


Mind's Eye

by drcarpetcat



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29442405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcarpetcat/pseuds/drcarpetcat
Summary: How do you retrace the steps of memories forgotten? Post S1 Finale - AU Kate/Jack.
Relationships: Kate Austen/Jack Shephard
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hello! Below is the first chapter of an old story of mine I'm reworking. I had posted the first two chapters of this under an old UN (FFN ontheceiling) in 2005 after the finale of Season 1. This is the first piece of fanfic I've written in over 15 years (yikes) and I'm certainly a bit rusty. This story will depart significantly from the original but the general idea is the same.
> 
> This is heavily AU and (given my loose memory of the show) maybe only partially true to the character's backstories as presented by the end of Season 1. For any errors, I apologize. I know this fandom has slowed down quite a bit so I'm really only writing this for myself, but would very sincerely appreciate any feedback as I get my sea legs back

Chapter One

Twigs crunched and cracked beneath their feet, echoing out around them, as they made their way through the dark jungle to their campsites after a long day. Jack held his torch high, leading the group through the thick foliage. Branches, teeming with leaves, hung around them, forcing them to bow their heads as they negotiated the now-trodden path towards the caves.

"Tomorrow, I'll talk to Sayid," Jack said over his shoulder to the others. "See if I can get him to change his mind about that thing."

Kate and Hurley followed with heads down, eyes on the path beneath their feet, their arms sagging with exhaustion and the weight of their torches. Locke was at the end of their entourage, without a torch, his head held high. His brow was knit tight in thought, his lips pursed in consideration.

They'd been at the hatch all day, exploring, arguing, and trying to decide what the hell to do with it and what it could mean. Their thoughts were heavy with questions, and all the hopes they quietly turned over in their minds, for what might lay in store for them. Its presence was so confusing, but impossible not to feel the slightest shivers of excitement over. But managing expectations was crucial. They'd all been disappointed before.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Jack," Locke said from behind them.

Jack threw a look over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Locke's face in the glow of his torch. "And why is that?" He ducked under a low-hanging branch, stopping to hold it up for Kate to pass beneath.

"Sayid is a man very set in his ways. We still don't have any idea what's down there. Instead of trying to get the man to change his mind, why don't we wait to show him what the hatch has to offer us?" Locke went on.

Jack had now regained his lead of the group. Switching his torch from his right hand to his left, he said, "Sayid is experienced, John. We could benefit from his help. Besides, his ideas aside, he's just as invested in exploring this island as the four of us are."

Locke was silent, and Jack looked over his shoulder to make sure he was still following them. Locke was still in the back, but watching the trail silently, again engrossed in thought. They traveled in silence a moment longer until Kate spoke up.

"Jack, I don't think going down into that thing is a very good idea." Her voice was insistent with concern.

"Yeah, dude," Hurley joined in, moving beside Kate as they walked. "I mean, that monster thing could be down there."

Jack put his hand up, shaking his head.

"We don't have any plans yet, but with the sun up tomorrow, and, hopefully, with Sayid's help, we'll think of a safe way to explore it."

They were again surrounded by silence brought on by Jack's empty reassurance. Kate's nerves fizzled around the edges with the unsettling knowledge of the now open hatch, its exploration sitting in the distance of time like an exam she didn't want to take, wasn't prepared for.

The caves slowly came into sight, and Hurley let out a sigh of relief. The trees thinned and grew sparse as they came into the clearing, greeted by the soft sounds of falling water. The group splintered and parted ways as they came to the mouth of the caves. Hurley gratefully set down his bag and torch at his campsite. He took a long drink from his water bottle, his body eased out the tension of the long day as he unpacked.

"Home, sweet home," Locke smiled at Jack and Kate and he passed them to move to his belongings at the far side of the cave. Setting his bag down, Locke also began to unpack, settling down to relax after a long physical day in the jungle.

Jack inhaled deeply, removing his backpack from his shoulders, letting them sink down. He rolled them back a few times, stretching his tired muscles.

Kate watched this, still feeling tense. Her journey wasn't over - her camp on the beach was at least another twenty minutes' walk away and the backpack that hung on her frame felt like it was packed with bricks. With every wave of fatigue, another brick was added.

"Well," Kate started, getting Jack's attention, "I'll see you in the morning."

He turned to face her. "What? Kate, it's too dark to go back to the beach now," he took a step towards her. "You can just stay here tonight, and in the morning, you can come with us to the beach when I go to talk to Sayid."

Kate bristled, smirking. She knew this was coming.

"I think I can manage to get to the beach from here." She rested a hand on her hip. "I've still got my torch."

Jack sighed. "One night here won't kill you," he smiled in an attempt to placate her.

"Neither will going back to the beach tonight."

Jack put his hands on his hips, mirroring her obstinance. The low voices of the people around them bouncing off the walls in the cave. The fire at the center cracked and popped in protest.

"Come on, Kate," he said, the smile falling from his lips. "It's dangerous out there, and you're exhausted. We all are, it was a long day." The sun had set a few hours ago, the night sky above the trees oppressively black, cut through with the milky knife of moonlight. What light that managed to filter through the canopy was sparse and edged in shadows. It was a short walk to the beach during the day, but at night the trail was murky, wild. Jack's logical mind played out the statistical probability of danger in venturing into the dark alone, and he knew that for someone capable like Kate, someone who kept her wits about her and knew what to listen for, the odds leaned in favor of an uneventful hike. However, a sliver of Jack's consciousness was pulled to the reality of their situation, each member of their group wholly paramount to their survival. The risks here, in even the most mundane of activities, weighing more for them all.

"Exactly," Kate began, trying to reassure him. "And the sooner I leave, the sooner I get back." She could handle the walk. He needed to stop worrying about her.

"Can't just humor me for one night?" he shook his head at her, smiling at her unwillingness to stay.

She was silent, and he got her message, shaking his head again, looking down at his feet as his mind fell to a resolution.

"I don't like the idea of you out there alone when it's this dark." He walked to the makeshift stand where he had set his torch and lifted it from its holder. Picking his backpack up from the ground, he slung it over one shoulder.

He turned back to face her, and saw her with her eyebrows raised at him in questioning.

"If you're not gonna stay here, you'll have to let me walk you back."

Kate watched him for a moment, considering. Him walking her to the beach meant he would be walking back to the caves alone, and he already looked exhausted. The muscles of his arms pulled at his shirt, begging for relief, but he stood stock still, holding his tense stature, waiting for her reaction.

"Well?"

She smiled slightly in submission. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jack."

He laughed lightly, resettling the bag over his shoulder. She turned from him and began down the trail towards the beach, the amber glow of her torch illuminating the area around her.

It was silent once again and they were surrounded by the sounds of their footsteps on the dry earth. Kate brushed a strand of hair out of her face as she stepped over a large knotted root protruding from the ground. Behind her, Jack stepped over it carefully, keeping his eyes moving around them, awaiting any sign of a disturbance.

"So what do you think it is?"

Her voice sounded out of place in the empty air, and startled Jack.

"What?"

"What do you think's in it, I mean," she clarified , slowing her pace so they were walking side-by-side.

Jack shook his head, switching his torch to his left hand to keep it away from Kate. Shadows danced across her features from the torch she held high with an aching arm.

"I don't know, Kate," he looked back to the trail ahead of them. "It's presence here is completely unaccounted for. It could be anything. It could be nothing."

Kate watched his eyes fall towards the ground as his body pulled along after his fierce mind. He reached up to his neck with his free hand and gripped the corner between his shoulder and neck in a fruitless attempt at easing some of the strain there, before dropping his hand and letting his arm hang heavily at his side. He pushed forward through the trees along their path, his exhaustion hanging around him like a fog.

"How long since your last full-night's sleep, Jack?"

Kate tried not to betray her concern and she watched his features for any reaction. His eyes snapped to her face for only an instant - what did she see there, recognition? Shame? He looked away, having been caught.

"When was yours?"

He was stalling, deflecting. Kept trodding forward, stepping around gnarled roots and rocks carefully.

"Jack, if you keep going like this..." her voice had lowered and she stopped moving down the trail. He looked back and saw that she had stopped.

"Kate - " he turned to face her, putting a hand up to cut her off. "Please"

"Please what? You're going to walk around telling everyone else what's good for us but not take your own advice?"

He scoffed at this, not amused by this line of questioning, or the timing of it.

"Kate," he said firmly, setting his jaw. "I'm fine." he turned to continue down the trail and away from her, his irritation palpable.

"Right, you're 'fine'," she said, caustically, increasing her pace to catch up to him. She stepped in front of him and forced him to a stop again. "Do you think we don't notice? That we're all too naive or stupid to see what a hypocrite you are?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she saw the flash of anger flicker behind Jack's eyes, like the first strike of a match. Before he could speak, she pressed on, not knowing the next time she'd get to confront him like this.

"You're not doing anyone any good by letting yourself fall apart. I know you don't want to hear it, but a lot of people here rely on you, need you to be ok so they can keep some kind of faith that we're all going to be ok."

He shook his head and let out a small laugh, like a comma to her sentence.

"A lot of people," he looked back up at her. "But not you, right Kate?"

She rolled her eyes at this. "This isn't about me, Jack."

"Well no of course not, why would it ever be."

"You're changing the subject because you know I'm right."

"Yeah Kate, I know that I'm tired and I know that people look to me for security, for guidance, whether or not that's something I can actually give to them. Thank you for stating the obvious."

"Jack, you can give that to them. You do it everyday. I mean Jesus, look around you! Look where we are. You're doing it right now."

"I wasn't exactly given a choice about it, was I?"

"Don't put this on me. I'm capable of taking care of myself. It's your insecurity that brought you here to be my escort."

A veil of pain washed across Jack's face, the air falling silent but for the shivering fauna around them, the crackling of their torches. He nodded slowly, dropping his eyes to the ground between them. Her mind raced, grasping for anything she can say to stop this from unraveling, pull back what she started.

"You're right, Kate," he said, his voice low and resigned. "Because that sleep I so desperately need? I won't get it if I have to wonder all night if you made it back to the beach in one piece. This is what I know how to do. So I'm doing it." He turned and continued down the trail.

"Jack," she started, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice, but he cut her off.

"Kate," he said, turning to face her fully. "All these people here with us, they're terrified. They don't just need me to take a look at cuts and twisted ankles. They need to feel the security of things being taken care of. I never said that I was someone who should or could provide that security, but this is the situation I find myself in. Their fear hurts them just as much as the hazards of this island do."

"That's what you're not seeing about all of this. About how we're going to survive here. We need people to be afraid, Jack. Fear keeps you alert, it makes you aware of your surroundings. But more than that, fear will keep people hoping for safety. As soon as they feel that safety here, on this island, we're done. There would be no faith for rescue without fear of abandonment."

"Jesus, this is still about moving to the caves? As if moving there makes us less desperate to get the hell out of here?" He's raising his voice now, incredulous, eyes flaring.

"No, this is about you being unwilling or unable to accept that it isn't your job to wipe away everyone's fears and bring about everyone's safety. People should be scared, that's what is going to get us out of here."

"That's all well and good as a philosophy, Kate, but not in practice. In real life fear is dangerous. Fear - especially the constant, unyielding kind - causes harm to the body. It hinders rational thought and your ability to make decisions. Prolonged stress and anxiety wreak havoc on you physiologically, mentally and emotionally. And that poses danger to all of us."

"It's like you don't even hear what you're saying," she's shaking her head, astonished at how someone so rational cannot see the duplicity in their own statements and actions.

"People don't want to be afraid. They don't want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night afraid of what the next day will bring. They actively seek ways to alleviate it, avoid it. First they look for the basics like food, water, and shelter. But that isn't enough to really sustain a person. Eventually, people need more than that - protection, community, leadership. And you don't just find that growing in the trees, it needs to be provided by someone else."

"Oh well, heavy is the head that wears the crown right?" She said bitterly.

"Don't belittle me, Kate."

"So what is your philosophy then? You have the higher moral authority to determine what's best and then dictate it to the rest of us?"

"Is that really what you think of me? That I walk around here like some overlord barking directions at people?"

"Is an overlord also exempt from the rules they impose on others?"

"Sacrifices have to be made, Kate! Are you actually trying to stand here and tell me I have some kind of choice in any of this? What would you have me do, sit on the sidelines and watch people get hurt, not fix the problems I see around me?"

"You're not hearing a word that I'm saying."

"No, the problem is I am hearing you, Kate. In case you haven't noticed, there aren't any weekends around here. No holidays. No days off. Every day there's risk of new threats, every hike into the hills or trip down the beach presents hazards. People aren't going to stop getting hurt just because I may be tired."

"Yes, use that as the excuse, Jack. The excuse for why you are incapable of taking care of yourself or, god forbid, sharing some of this responsibility you've piled onto yourself. You'd give your own shirt off your back if it meant someone else was a little more comfortable, to hell with the consequences. You gave your own blood away for Christ's sake, Jack. That's why you're here right now, instead of back at the caves getting the rest you so desperately need. You refuse to set any limits for yourself."

"You think I'm the only person people look to on this godforsaken rock? You need to take a look around you Kate."

"This isn't about -"

"No, that isn't how this works. I listened to all of your astute observations about me, Kate. Now it's my turn." he stepped closer to her and her heart was racing from the confrontation, from the apprehension of all the hurtful things he could say to her as a reflection of what she'd said to him, the ways she was challenging him by tossing accusations at his feet and daring him to take a swing. He lowered his voice when he spoke.

"You like to think you're an outsider here, that somehow you're so different from all of us that you can disappear into the outskirts and no one will notice. That you're inconsequential, just another seat number on the manifest, right? As much as you don't want to admit it, people around here look to you, too. Your confidence, your opinion, comforts these people. You pretend not to see it, and prefer to think they're all weary of you or don't trust you. But they're just intimidated. Intimidated by your courage and your defiance. But they depend on it. So as much as you'll never want to admit it, you're just as much a leader as I am to these people. The only difference is you're too afraid to step into the responsibility that presents."

She felt the air go out of her like a balloon struck by a pin. Jack's firm belief in self sacrifice turned against her now, showing her that she owed them more, but was shirking her responsibilities for the sake of her own survival and individualism, and her fear of assimilation. That didn't fit into Jack's worldview and Kate felt a cold cloud of panic descend on her at the idea of being unworthy or a disappointment in his eyes.

He took a deep breath and hesitated, standing there for a moment, but decided against saying anything more, and turned from her, going down the trail.

Kate stood there for a moment longer, feeling the shake in her hands and the cold sweat on her palms, willing him to turn around and throw more at her. She felt infuriated that he could turn this argument on her, when all she was trying to do was get Jack to go easier on himself, but also felt the bitter satisfaction at being hurt, the small nagging at the back of her mind reminding her that she deserved it, that Jack was right. Her habit of fading into the sidelines was nothing more than sidestepping any kind of responsibility or place within the group that made her a more central cog to their survival machine. She couldn't afford those ties. She watched his back moving away from her, his shoulders slumped and his arm rigidly holding the torch above him.

They didn't speak for the rest of the hike. The ground beneath them slowly softened, becoming mixed with sand, and the distant crash of the waves filtering through the trees. Kate felt a pinch in her chest as she ran out of time to talk to him. To say what, she didn't know. Apologize? Antagonize him more to see what other daggers he could press into her? Anything was better than facing the rest of this chilly night on the beach wishing she'd said something else, restless with their argument spanning endlessly into the depths of her mind, stretching out like the ocean. She was left with the feeling of having come out the victor in a fight she hadn't meant to pick, the one that had scored the most points in hurting her adversary. Around them, the trees began to spread apart, leading them out to the open sand, dispersed fires, and silent air.

A few paces beyond the trail, Jack stepped aside, his feet sinking into the sand. Kate moved forward and slowly turned toward him, the wind from the surf blowing strands of her hair across her face. She pushed them behind her ear and looked down to the sand, not able to meet his eyes.

"Thanks for walking me back," Kate said finally, a peace offering. It sounded hollow to her ears. He nodded, acknowledging the olive branch. But his limbs felt weighed down with all the things she'd said to him on the trail, the feeling of her persecution, the disdain in her eyes.

"No problem, Kate," his eyes met hers again.

"You do realize that now you will have to walk back in the dark," she tried, teasingly, hoping to instill some small grain of levity.

"Yeah, well," he laughed slightly, mirthlessly. "I'd rather it be me than you," he said, unsmiling.

"Right," she said, defeated. If he'd taken any stock in her words, he wasn't showing it. He'd spent the last half of their walk installing his barrier to her, closing off any conduit between them.

Another wave of fatigue spread across her, and her mouth opened wide in a yawn she couldn't suppress, but she tried to cover with the back of her hand. Seeing this, Jack took a step back in preparation to leave. He started shifting his backpack on his shoulders, getting ready for the trek back to the caves.

"Jack," she began, catching his eye. "Same offer. You're more than welcome." She gestured behind her, toward the sprawling campsites across the beach. A futile effort, she knew.

"Thanks, but I need to head back."

"See you in the morning then?" she asked, probing for the promise of some kind of redemption, proof they've avoided lasting damage.

"Yeah, see you then," he said, turning and heading back up onto the trail leading to the caves. His movements were heavy and measured. She watched him until the light from his torch faded into the jungle, the glow swallowed by the island.

\-----

Jack walked the path as he had the night before, but this time without the insistent danger of the dark or the threats of their argument. A few hours after sunrise, the sun began to push through the treetops with more insistence, the air around him growing warmer. If they started soon enough, they could get to the hatch and formulate a plan before the hottest hours of the day.

As the trail thinned beneath his feet, mixing dirt and leaves with sand, Jack's heart sagged with apprehension. He was jittery from lack of sleep, his muscles ached from the grueling activity his body had been enduring for weeks that never seemed to let up. As he emerged from the trees into the full force of the morning sun, he avoided glancing down the beach toward her camp.

Several yards away, he found Shannon sitting outside her shelter on a blanket slowly folding clothes with the deliberation of someone seeking distraction in a mindless task. He approached her and caught her eye.

"Morning, Shannon."

"Hey, Jack," she smiled at him, but it looked more like muscle memory than anything else. The circles under her eyes spoke of her sleepless grieving. Jack felt a bolt of guilt course down his spine.

"Know where I can find Sayid?" he asked, squinting out at the shoreline, hoping to see him walking towards them, but didn't.

"Actually," Shannon paused, holding the shirt she was folding in her lap, "He just left to go get something to eat. He should be back any minute."

"Thanks, Shannon." Jack nodded, turning to look around him again. Before setting off across the sand, he said, "I have something that could help you sleep, back at the caves. I'd be happy to bring some by later if you're interested."

She smiled up at him, her fingers absently twisting the fabric in her hands.

"Thanks Jack. I'll think about it."

Shannon turned her face back down to her clothes, carefully folding each of the articles, lost in thought.

Jack turned from her shelter and walked out towards the middle of the beach, watching as the other survivors maneuvered through the monotonous day. As he was observing them, Charlie came forward, balancing water bottles awkwardly in his arms.

"Hey, Jack," he said, smiling broadly, nearly dropping a water bottle. He stuck his arm out and caught it by the cap between two fingers.

"Morning, Charlie," Jack smiled back, amused at Charlie's energy and spirit.

"Hey, have you seen Kate? Is she up yet?"

That was a foolish question, and he knew it. Most mornings when he was still staying at the beach, he would spy her awake walking the surf as the sun barely peeked out over the water.

"You know," Charlie began, brow furrowing in thought, "I don't think so. She might still be asleep. You can check her tent."

Charlie seemed unperturbed by this notion. It seemed completely rational that people would sleep in when given the opportunity, but Jack knew otherwise. Kate knew that they were going back to the hatch that morning, and she wasn't one to miss out on anything. Jack half expected her to come to the caves and wake him up, raring to go.

"I better get these to the caves," Charlie continued, again almost losing balance.

"Thanks, Charlie," Jack said, stepping aside so Charlie could move on towards the path through the jungle.

Something stirred in his chest. Jack had no real evidence to believe anything was amiss, but he couldn't help feeling a small twist of nerves in his stomach. Maybe she'd decided to go out on her own this morning, just to spite him after their argument last night and further prove her point.

Jack headed towards her shelter, which was a little bit further down the beach. A tarp hung down to the sand, concealing the inside. As he approached the tarp, the hope of seeing her pull it aside and come out was tugging at the back of his mind.

"Kate?" He called out to the still structure and waited. The tarp caught in the ocean breeze and rustled but otherwise there was no movement or sound from within.

"Kate?" He called again, this time louder, and more insistent.

Jack stood stock still in front of the tarp, glancing around for any signs that she'd already left or was just out getting some breakfast but saw nothing. He tightened his jaw, and reached up to the corner of the tarp, gripping the thick plastic before pulling it back.

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when he saw her lying inside, chest rising slowly in sleep. Jack moved to the other side of the shelter and tied the tarp back.

Kneeling down beside her calm features, he examined her for a moment. She was completely unguarded: no witty comebacks or sarcastic looks, just her face, with her hand brought up, near her cheek. This person, who had just last night tore at him and did her damndest to call him on his bullshit, now quiet and still. He sat back on his heels.

"Hey, Kate," he said, loud enough to wake her, but not startle her. He watched her eyes remain shut and no changes appear on her face.

"Kate," he tried again, punctuating it more clearly this time, but still no reaction.

Jack reached out a hand and rested it on her shoulder, putting slight pressure on it.

"Wake up, Kate," he said, his voice becoming louder and more urgent. His heart rate quickened and the sound dropped out from his ears. He put more pressure on her shoulder, pushing more fervently now, but still with no response.

"Kate!" Jack yelled, on his knees next to her, his heart sinking to the sand.

His hand shot out to her extended wrist, and rested his fingers there, waiting. His heart was pounding, he could feel the blood rushing behind his ears, unsure if the pulse he was feeling was hers or his own.

But then he felt it, like the tip of a pin. She had a pulse, a weak one, but it was there. On closer inspection, the rising and falling of her chest was shallow and dispersed unevenly. Her skin was pale, even in the illuminating morning sun.

One hand pressed to her wrist, he moved his other hand to her forehead, feeling its radiant heat before touching her. Beads of sweat formed on her hairline and her skin was sweltering.

"Jesus," he muttered. She couldn't have stayed with him one night, could she?

"I need some help over here!" He yelled over his shoulder, heads turning in his direction immediately. His voice was panicked and strained; more desperate than the others had heard before.

At Shannon's tent, Sayid was walking towards her with a handful of fruit when he heard Jack's call. Dropping the food onto the blanket next to Shannon, he tore down the beach in the direction of Kate's shelter with others close behind.

Stopping abruptly at Jack's side, he saw Kate's body lying in front of him; her wrist in his hand.

Jack turned and saw him standing there.

"I need water and clean cloth, whatever you can find," he ordered hurriedly, his face pleading with the group that stood around and above him.

Several people around them went running into their shelters to get anything they could to help.

"Jack," Sayid said, calmly from behind him, using his voice to force Jack's eyes to his, "What can I do to help?"

Jack caught his eye, and took a deep breath. "I need you to get Sun from the caves and bring her here," Jack said, regaining his composure. There was a task at hand; he couldn't afford to let his performance slip. "And have Charlie bring as much cold water back from the caves as possible."

Sayid nodded briskly, and set off immediately into the jungle for the caves.

Several people came running back with bottles of water and pieces of ripped cloth. Jack took them and turned back to Kate's still form. Pouring water onto a cloth, he gently ringed it out, and slowly began dabbing at her forehead with the somewhat cool liquid. Running the cloth over her warm skin, he felt his heart beating out of his chest. Fevers could cause many things ranging in severity from vomiting and chills to delirium and hallucinations but if a fever progressed until it reached unconsciousness, antibiotics were likely needed. If that was even the cause of her current state. His mind raced, he considered all the possible culprits, tried to remember what they'd been eating, where they'd been in the jungle. A fever from eating something was one thing, but a fever could indicate a range of more sinister problems, things that he simply did not have the tools to address.

Re-wetting the cloth, Jack sat at her side, pressing it to her skin, his mind swimming.

\-----

A wave of dizziness ran over her, and Kate squeezed her eyes shut to calm the rolling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Pale light shone through to her eyes, sending the waves of nausea crashing again.

Slowly, she blinked her eyes open, squinting them at the bright, florescent light that washed over her. Her head was pounding, her limbs felt heavy and warm, and she was overtaken by the smell of cleaning products, antiseptics, sterilization.

What she could immediately tell is that she was somehow laying in a raised bed, white sheets surrounding her. Looking down at her chest she could see she was wearing a thick fabric gown - a hospital gown? - with a cotton blanket tucked over her legs.

Like a kettle slowly coming to a boil she realized she was somewhere very unfamiliar. Looking around her, she saw the floor was covered in stark white tiles, thick drapes closed out light from a window on the right side of her bed. Two large wood doors stood on the wall to her left, one open to reveal a small bathroom and the other slightly ajar leading into an equally white space beyond. The only sounds she heard were the distant murmurs of voices she didn't recognize.

Her pulse quickened. Was this a dream? Nothing around her held any significance or triggered a single memory. It was whitewashed and barren, something from another reality she didn't understand.

Thinking back to how she'd arrived there brought nothing - just an empty span of blank memory. She didn't know if it was morning or evening, The pain in her head was beginning to frighten her. She pulled back the blanket to examine her legs, bare under the hospital gown but for a pair of bright pink socks. Her movements tugged at the carousel of monitors and IV tubes beside her and her breathing hitched in her chest. Why was she here? What was going on and why didn't she remember how she wound up there?

She tugged the pulse monitor clamp from her finger and heard the machine softly trilling at losing its connection to her. Gingerly she pulled the IV from her hand, the sting of the needle escaping her skin telling her she wasn't dreaming. Stumbling from the bed, she made her way to the bathroom.

Gripping the white sink she looked up at herself in the mirror and gasped. The side of her face was bruised from the edge of her jaw up to her hairline, a swollen bulge beneath her eye several shades of crimson and purple. Her eyebrow held several rows of small white bandages, spots of dried blood darkening the edges. Her hair was tousled but otherwise clean, cleaner than she had seen it in a long time. She brought her hand up to gingerly touch the side of her face and measure the extent of the injuries and froze. Her left hand bore two platinum rings on her third finger, one studded prominently with a brilliant glittering stone.

Her heart thudded in her chest and tears rushed to her eyes reflexively, the walls of her foreign environment and her own unidentifiable reflection closing in on her like a vice. Her breath was catching in her throat and she could hear the strangled gasps echoing in the small tiled bathroom. She turned the water on and ran her fingers under the cold water, cupping her hands and bringing it up to her face. She splashed it across her skin over and over again, water dripping down her arms, off her chin, onto her hospital gown. She looked back at her face in the mirror above the sink, her eyes red and face flushed with confusion and fear.

"Kate?" she heard a voice call out into the room. She froze. She heard footsteps march into the room and she peaked out the bathroom door to see a man in a suit standing next to the bed she had climbed out if not three minutes before, his back to her. This man grasped the back of his neck, rubbing the short dark hair on the back of his head before spinning quickly to walk out of the room. But he immediately stopped short when he caught her eyes peeking through the crack in the bathroom door.

Kate's lungs seized in her chest.

"Jack?" she breathed, her small voice wavering, nearly inaudible. She didn't move.

\-----

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all who have given this story a chance, it's been so encouraging! My goal is to update weekly. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

“Oh thank god,” he exhaled, a small smile spreading on his lips as he stepped forward towards the bathroom where Kate hid.

“I got here as fast as I could, I was just outside talking to your doctor…” he approached the bathroom door but Kate backed away from him, her brows knotted together in confusion, a cold sweat breaking out across her body.

“Kate, are you feeling ok? You should get back into bed…” he pushed the door open and she started to shake, tears filling her eyes, as her back hit the wall behind her in the bathroom as she retreated. The smile left his face as he took in her reaction. 

“I don’t understand…” she tried, her strangled voice dry and cracking, the tears surging up her throat. She started to lose focus, her knees were wobbly and loose and she put her hands behind her on the wall to try to catch her balance but began to slide down as her strength gave out beneath her.

“Kate!” Jack called, panic rising in his voice in a way she’d never heard before. He rushed forward and gripped her by the upper arms tightly, catching her weight. He deftly pulled one of her arms over his shoulder, laced his other arm around her waist, and guided her back to the bed. 

Kate’s breathing was labored, her vision hazy around the edges, Jack’s voice calling out to her and telling her to take deep breaths sounding like it was coming from somewhere down the hall. He lifted her into the bed and covered her with the blanket. His face seemed to float above and around her, his mouth moving but his voice like murmurs underwater, her eyes increasingly difficult to keep open. She distantly heard him say he was going to get her doctor and he ran from the room. 

She blinked intently, trying desperately to keep her eyes open, her eyelids as dense as sandbags. Her throat felt constricted and she started to shiver as the cold sweat covered her body. She grasped the blanket and pulled it over her tightly, gritting her teeth and trying to focus her mind on the feeling of the blanket between her fingers. She measured her breaths and counted to five on each inhale, letting a trembling breath escape as slowly as she could.

She heard footsteps running down the hall and felt the air change as a team of people charged into the room. Her blanket was ripped from her hands as she was reattached to monitors, her hand cleaned and prepped for a new IV. She urged them to wait, needed to understand what was happening.

“Wait, please,” she pleaded, looking from one unidentifiable face to the next. “What’s happening? Please, I’m so cold…” she felt the sharp pain of the needle in her hand as the nurse placed the IV. Two cold fingers were probing at her neck for a pulse while another nurse reattached the heart monitor clip to her finger. The doctor in front of her was talking, asking her to look at him but she couldn’t focus, was looking around the room for Jack. He was lost in the sea of faces and hands moving around her.

“Jack? Where’s Jack?” 

“Kate, I need you to focus over here please,” the same doctor was saying sternly, pulling her attention. “Can you focus on my finger?” he asked, moving it from side to side while she tried to track it with her eyes. 

“That’s good,” he continued, looking at a metal chart in his hand. “Kate, you’ve had a panic attack. We’ve added a very mild sedative to your IV to help calm you down - “

“What? No, I don’t want that - “ 

“You’ll hardly feel anything, it will just let you catch your breath,” the doctor continued. The nurses moved around her bedside and she looked down at her lap where the blanket was pulled back over her legs. She felt warmth returning to her but could still feel the tremble in her fingers and hands. She pulled the blanket up towards her chest. One of the nurses examined the heart monitor at her side and relayed information to the doctor who nodded and leaned in to examine her face, reaching up with a flashlight to check her pupils. She squinted at the brief bright light, and as it moved away she saw that the nurses had disappeared and Jack was standing at her bedside again.

A shrill ringing erupted from the phone on the wall near the door. Kate watched the doctor answer it and murmur a few words into the receiver before turning to Jack.

“Radiology has the MRI results - I’ll be back in ten minutes.” The doctor slipped into the hallway and closed the door behind him, the room suddenly shut off from any of the outside world beyond it.

“What’s going on?” Kate finally spoke, looking back up at Jack with trepidation. His face was clean shaven, his hair longer than she thought she remembered it. 

“You were in an accident this afternoon,” Jack said, reaching out to take her right hand in both of his firmly. They were warm and smooth, his thumb moving across her knuckles. She was spinning, couldn’t place herself or this time in her mind. His touch on her hand was almost entirely unfamiliar, the context warped and new, but unplaceable. She couldn’t reconcile this moment within her memory alongside what she recalled from last night, none of it made sense. His touch sent spindles of electricity across her skin. 

“An accident?” she asked, pulling her hand from his slowly, confused, and returning it to the blanket. She saw Jack’s brow crease again. He shifted his weight and tilted his head, examining her. 

“Do you not remember it? You were leaving class, someone ran a red light…” her eyes drifted off searching her memories for a car accident. There was only one accident she remembered. 

“I don’t remember... “

“That’s ok, you might have a concussion. It was a pretty serious accident, your car is probably totaled...” he ran a hand over his face with a deep sigh. “But the doctor says you’re ok, aside from being pretty bruised up. They did an MRI just to be safe, but your other x-rays are negative.” 

Kate was shaking her head, the sedative in her IV lapping at her margins like a warm bath, smoothing out the sharp angles, but her mind raced. Her heart still felt like a frightened bird trapped in a cage too small for its wings.

“But Jack, I don’t…” she looked around the room, searching for any clue she could grasp. “I don’t remember anything.” 

Jack snapped to attention, his hands gripping the railing at her bedside. 

“What do you mean you don’t remember anything?” he said, unable to hide his confusion.

“I mean I don’t remember anything!” she said, raising her voice. “I don’t know how I got here, this feels like a dream, like I’m crazy…”

“Kate, look at me, look at me,” he urged and grasped her hand again firmly. She flinched but he didn’t let go. She looked up at him and found his eyes focused on her, steadfast. 

“It’s ok. Take a deep breath,” he instructed and she obeyed, filling her lungs slowly before exhaling. She looked up at Jack, taking in the look on his face, this unknown version of him, and her eyes filled with tears. Something was terribly wrong. Panic sprinted around her brain looking for a landmark, anything it recognized to anchor her but she found nothing. A tear slipped down her cheek and Jack raised his other hand to cup her face, brushing the tear away with his thumb. This was such an otherworldly, intimate moment, Kate couldn’t make sense of the contact or the injection of relief that flooded through her system at such a simple touch.

“Let’s start slow,” he said with a small smile. “What is the last thing you remember?”

He watched her eyes as she seemed to dive into her own mind, fumbling backwards, reaching for a thread to grasp and bind her to this plane. Suddenly her eyes refocused on his, she found something.

“I uh… I was going to sleep, I was exhausted. We had just opened the hatch and were going back in the morning - “ Jack pulled his hand away from her face suddenly, as if he’d just accidentally touched a hot stove. 

“What did you just say?”

“We had just opened the hatch, but we didn’t know what to do about it. I was going to sleep the night before we were going to try to explore it…” as she said this, she watched his face slacken, his eyes grow vacant. 

“Jack? What is it?” 

“Uh…” Jack cleared his throat and pulled his other hand away from hers, this time being the one to draw away. “Kate…” he shook his head, eyes wide, pained.

“Jack, you’re scaring me,” her voice wavered. 

“Kate…” he tried again, his voice deflated. “Are you sure? That’s the last thing you remember?”

“Um, yeah, I mean I think so. I remember the long day at the hatch, and how tired we all were…” she hesitated to go further, not wanting to revisit their argument and how they’d left things, how she tossed and turned restlessly, desperate for sleep, replaying all the things she’d said and all the things she hadn’t.

“But what about… later? Anything else? At all?”

“No, I told you, I only remember going to sleep that night…” Kate says, frustrated, frowning at Jack. He took a step back and sighed deeply. The feeling of missing crucial information was ballooning in her mind, driving her confusion deeper. 

“Jack, please,” she asks, begs, her voice strangled with the unshed tears filling her eyes again as another wave of fear overtakes her. “What the hell is going on?”

Jack has his hands on his hips, eyeing her nervously. He’s apprehensive and distressed, clearly hesitating and unsure how to talk to her. She’s never seen him like this, with anyone, regardless of the circumstances. His approach is always cool and collected, if not occasionally somber. Even in the worst of situations they’d encountered together, he didn’t display his concern. 

“Kate,” he began, shaking his head. He took a step forward and placed his hands back on the handrail carefully. “Look, we are going to figure this out. I just need you to try to relax - “

“Jack, why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“That…” he paused and sighed deeply. “The hatch… that was a long time ago.” 

Kate's heart tumbled, pounding out an anxious off-kilter beat, like a dryer filled with bowling balls. 

“Ok…” she tried, watching Jack. He shifted his weight on his feet. Her head flooded with so many questions she thought he could have read them in her eyes but her mouth was dry and refused to move. 

“Kate, look… a lot has happened... changed since that day on the island.” He shakes his head and looks down at his hands. He can’t find the right words for this, can hardly even wrap his own mind around it. He steels himself and goes on. “What I’m about to say is going to… I need you to trust that everything is going to be ok. Do you trust me?”

He’s locked eyes with her now and is watching her fiercely. She knows whatever this is, it has knocked both of them off their axis and Jack is rattled, thoroughly. She remembers this man as steadfast and giving, firm and methodical, and had been on the receiving end of his protection more times than she could count. And although this version of him was almost entirely foreign to her - the pressed and expensive suit, clean and combed hair, with an unmissable frightened expression - she did trust him. She nodded. 

“Kate… that day at the hatch… a lot happened after that. But it’s why we’re here right now. It helped us get off the island. Over three years ago.”

Kate’s mind faltered, her mouth opening and closing unable to respond. Three years… she felt like she was falling into a dark, deep, endless pool, untethered. Her eyes dropped to her lap and she felt completely blank, like a vessel that’s been emptied onto the floor. That period of time, the distance of three years of her life behind her, was unfathomable. Her mind that was racing with questions just a moment ago had come to a crashing and splintering halt, slamming into a barrier so tall and so insurmountable she was left entirely speechless. 

“Kate, I know this is a lot to take in, but we will figure it out…” She can’t focus on his voice, only on the chasm of memory that has opened up inside her. Three years of her life, vanished without a discernible trace, the claustrophobic feeling of the rest of the world around her, the white walls and window, the bed and blanket, the man in front of her, symbols of everything she couldn’t remember, but also a confusing link to her past. A pool of shame blossomed in the pit of her stomach for the ways the world around her held memories of her existence that she did not possess herself. 

As she shook her head in confusion, there was a firm knock at the door to her room before it opened, the doctor returning with a folder of films to review from radiology. Jack held a hand up to him to ask for a moment before turning back to Kate.

“I’m going to review the MRI films with your doctor. I’ll be back in five minutes, ok?” he said, keeping his tone measured and she nodded feebly as he left the room with the doctor, the door shutting with a small click behind them.

Once out in the hall, Jack turned to the doctor urgently. “She has serious memory impairment. What do the MRI films show?” 

“How serious is the impairment?” the doctor asked, pulling the films from the folder and walking across the hall to a lightbox. As he snapped the films into the box and flipped the switch, Jack continued.

“She’s lost all memory of the last three years.”

The doctor shot him a look. “All memory? Are you sure?” 

“As far as I can tell. She’s still very anxious, but right now the last thing she remembers…” he paused, the words so strange in his mind he couldn’t form them audibly. 

“Dr Shephard?” the doctor coaxed, folding his arms over his chest.

“The last thing she remembers is the  _ other  _ accident.”

“She remembers the crash itself or events after the crash?” 

“Events after the crash. It sounds like she remembers going to sleep there one night and the next thing she remembers is waking up here.” Jack sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face again, feeling the sharp beginnings of a five oclock shadow against his palm.

“Her MRI shows no abnormalities, physical trauma, or areas of concern related to this accident or otherwise,” the doctor turns toward the film on the bright screen in front of them. “No indications of early onset dementia or Alzheimers.” Jack searches the grey and white images, structures of Kate’s brain, looking for some kind of understanding but praying not to find one. 

“Jack,” the doctor said solemnly, “You both experienced a great deal of trauma due to the plane crash and its aftermath. But for Kate especially, in addition to her past… Jack, you know as well as I do that the effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder can be exceedingly difficult to pin down and can surface at any time.” 

Jack is nodding, understanding what Dr. Davis is saying - he has been a colleague and family friend for years, the person he saw for his own treatment after returning to the states when they were rescued. He was instrumental in supporting Jack’s rehabilitation after arriving injured, dehydrated, and malnourished. 

“Episodes of global amnesia can occur for any number of reasons, but not least of all due to moderate head trauma, the likes of which she experienced today in the car accident. It’s entirely possible that this is a small, albeit scary, side effect and her mind is just taking her back to another near death experience that she’s still processing within her subconscious.”

“Small,” Jack chuckled gruffly. “She’s looking at me like I’m a stranger. She’s terrified.”

His eyes are focused on a point down the hall as he thinks along the spectrum of events in the last three years. His heart wheeling as he realizes all that she now has no recollection of. 

“Jack,” the doctor tries again, pulling his attention back to what’s in front of him. “This could all resolve itself. As you know, trauma can have a lot of impact on memory that we still don’t understand.”

Jack is nodding but his mind is spinning. How does he tell Kate… how does he explain… 

“What do I do? How do I… what can even help…?” 

“Anything can be a trigger, just remember to be patient with her. Talk to her about the past. Bring her places, show her things, pictures, anything with a strong tie to a memorable event. You can also visit with friends and family, but do so cautiously as that can cause even more confusion or discomfort, especially with people that may have a hard time understanding. Is she still seeing Dr Lewis?” 

“Uh, no not really,” Jack’s voice sounds distant to his own ears, his mind spinning within a vacuum of what’s ahead of him. Where can he even begin…

“Call her. Kate should get in to see her tomorrow if possible. This experience is overwhelming for anyone, but for someone with a past like Kate’s, she’ll need help processing and coping with the anxiety around regaining her memory.” 

“Right, ok. Understood,” Jack said and turns back toward the door of Kate’s hospital room, feeling truly aimless for one of the few times in his life. 

“What are we really talking about here, Andrew?” Jack addresses him personally, appealing to his close ties with his family, the ways he’s been woven into the fabric of Jack’s life since he was in medical school, via his friendship with Jack’s father Christian. Dr. Davis shakes his head sadly.

“Jack, I wish to Christ I could answer that. There’s no roadmap for situations like this. But what I can tell you is to keep a close eye on her. Typically, but not always, patients experiencing an episode of global amnesia can regain their memories within a few days, or even a few hours. But if you're seeing no improvement after 72 hours, we may need to consider more tests. And if any other symptoms present - a fever, fatigue, mood changes, anything - bring her back in right away.” 

\-----

Kate stared up at the ceiling, examining the white tiles and considering their pattern. The stippled architecture across their surface is totally random and lost in the consideration of their entirety. The grid above her a track to run her mind against, imagining each square’s corner a junction of memory, challenging herself to remember a milestone - any milestone - before today. 

She’s stuck at the night on the beach, remembering the feeling of her lumpy, cold bedding in the sand and the pounding in her head, struggling to process the events of the day. The hatch, a great white monolith submerged in the earth of the island they found themselves stranded on, inexplicable and mysterious and a harbinger of… what, she didn’t know. But she felt fear when she remembered the window in its surface, the ethereal glow that consumed Jack and Locke when they came to terms with what it meant and, more importantly, what it could mean.

She has the vague sensation of feeling tired, the kind of fatigue you feel when you’re fighting against an especially poor night of sleep. And when she thinks chronologically, that makes sense. The last night of sleep she remembers being on a chilly beach in the middle of nowhere after an especially unsettling argument with Jack, submerged somewhere deep in an unknown jungle.

Her stomach flipped at the memory, the things she’d said to him as recently as yesterday, in her mind, were cruel and seemed to leave her lips differently than she’d formed them in her mind. Pleas to care for himself were instead shaped as insults to his motives, and shows of her concern were twisted into accusations of elitism and hypocrisy, a word she’d even used against him. 

Kate pushed herself to the deepest corners of her mind, probing her memory beyond what she could recall from moments ago: waking up in this blindingly white room, no identifying characteristics anywhere around her to clutch. She groped the walls of her darkened mind - a wide room whose only lightsource had been crushed and smothered. She felt along the surfaces for any cerebral texture - a word, a shape, a color, a feeling - and nothing came.

The doorknob to her room twisted and she watched it open slowly. Jack’s form slipped into the room with a physicality she hadn’t seen in him before - Trepidation? Unease? Fear? - before shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.

Watching him come to her bedside was like watching a movie on a TV through the glass window of a shop display - happening in front of you but removed by barely discernible layers. She felt like she was within the wobbly panels of a very convincing hallucination. He came to her bedside and looked as if he’d aged ten years since finding her in the bathroom, all joy at seeing her earlier having fled as he deciphered the look on her face to be one of abject terror. 

“Kate…” he started, eyes averted, looking down at his hands gripping the handrail on her bed to steady himself. He seemed to stall, assessing the best way forward. He cleared his throat. “Your MRI is clear. No injury, no signs of trauma from today’s accident.”

“Ok,” she exhaled a sigh of relief, and waited.

“But we can’t be sure what’s causing this episode of... amnesia,” he says warily.

“Amnesia?” 

“Yes we… Dr. Davis thinks it may have been triggered by today’s accident. Moderate head injuries can - “ 

“Jack,” she says firmly, covering his hands on her bed’s handrail and he finally lifts his eyes to hers. His eyes are glassy, rimmed with unshed tears. “What is going on?”

They’re interrupted by the door behind them opening with a small knock. A short, blonde orderly in lavender scrubs comes into the room with a clipboard and a small white paper bag. 

“Hello,” she says sweetly approaching the end of her bed. Jack pulls a hand away and wipes his eyes briskly. 

“I’ve come to drop off some medication before we get you on your way today,” she hands the small white bag to Jack. “This is extra strength Tylenol. Take two tonight before bed with a large glass of water and it should take the edge off enough to help you get to sleep, but if this doesn’t take care of the pain, give us a call in the morning and we can get you something with a little more kick.” The nurse moves around the bed to lower Kate’s handrails and disconnect her finger from the heart monitor. She jots a few notes into her chart before carefully removing the tape covering the IV on Kate’s hand. With a small tug, the IV is free and Kate examines the small red hole in her skin. 

“Were you able to bring her a change of clothes, Dr Shephard?” she asks.

“Uh, no,” Jack stammers. “I came straight here from surgery.” 

“That’s not a problem, I’ll run and get you a pair of scrubs to wear home.” 

The nurse steps out of the room and an uncomfortable silence coats them like soap at a bad carwash. Jack runs a hand over the top of his head and through his hair. Kate’s thoughts are like a record that has played its last track, spinning endlessly on the turntable waiting for someone to reset the needle. 

“How did we -” 

“Look I think it’s probably best if we wait to dive into all of that - “

“Jack, I feel like I’m losing my mind - ” 

“I know, and I promise I’ll answer all your questions when we get home. Let’s just get through the rest of this first.”

Kate’s mind comes to a stuttering halt as she realizes what Jack has said, but before she can speak up, the nurse returns carrying a folded pair of dark navy scrubs and a black leather handbag over her shoulder. She places the folded scrubs at the foot of the bed and sets the purse down beside it.

“I do have some good news,” the nurse announces. “They were able to get your purse out of the car when they picked you up at the scene.”

She flashes them a smile and turns to Jack.

“I’ll be at the nurses station just down the hall when you’re ready to leave and I can check you and your wife out.” 

With that, she turns on the heel of a squeaky sneaker and leaves the room, the door shutting behind her. 

\-----

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has given this story a shot! I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter Three

It’s quiet and still when the nurse leaves the room. Kate’s eyes are fixed on the neatly folded pair of scrubs sitting on the end of her bed next to a black leather handbag she’s never seen before but belongs to her.

With the last few moments passing like a hurricane through her senses, she’d forgotten what she’d seen in the bathroom - the rings on her finger signifying only one thing. But it hadn’t even scratched the surface of her mind with everything else swiveling around her like a drunken top. 

Now her thoughts careened down a new path, one that hadn’t yet even occurred to her. Not only had she no recollection of the events of the last three years of her life, but she’d also lost the understanding of who she’d come to be in that time. All the moments and routines, habits and activities that make up a life, concealed to her. 

Finally she looked up at Jack, a man now embedded in her life in an unthinkable way, and she felt humiliation swell up around her like a filling bathtub. All the ways she must have come to know him over their time together, however long, swept away absurdly, ludicrously. His eyes met hers and she immediately felt the sharp pain of her shame, of not knowing him, or them, in any way differently from their past on the island. She opened her mouth to try to speak but he stopped her.

“Kate, we don’t have to do this now. Let’s just get you out of here, okay?”

She nodded weakly and took a deep breath. Sitting up, she started to swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Reaching for the scrubs, she felt a spear of pain shoot across her ribs and winced, bringing her hand to her side. 

“You’re pretty banged up,” Jack said, moving to her side and lifting the scrubs for her. “Let me help you.” 

He reached around her to untie her hospital gown, letting it fall around her shoulders. She looked down, suddenly embarrassed by her exposed skin, a warm blush spreading across her cheeks but Jack’s eyes were lowered. She extracted her arms from the gown and allowed him to open the shirt for her to push her arms through. Her torso ached and flashed with goosebumps at the cold air, and its exposure to Jack in such a delicate way, as he pulled it over her head and down her back. Bending down, he held open the pants for her to gingerly insert her feet into the legs before pulling them up over her calves and thighs slowly, gently.

Without another word, they left the hospital room. Kate followed Jack down the bright hall to the nurses station carrying her purse, imagining the ridiculous vision of her - battered, bruised, with the look of a child lost in the supermarket.

The blonde nurse from earlier came around the desk pushing a wheelchair for Kate and despite her protestations, she was coaxed into the chair under the guise of Hospital Policy. Jack signed her release forms and shortly thereafter she was coasting down the hallway. 

With each doorway they passed, Kate felt her grip on this new version of her reality slipping as they got closer and closer to the exit. This world around her nearly as remote as the island had been when they’d first arrived. Shifting gears back into the real world this way was an overwhelming shock to her body and mind - her blank memory aside, the physical sensation of solid ground, artificial light, smells, and sounds were churning her stomach and amplifying the ache in her head.

They reached the wide sliding automatic doors at the exit and Jack left her with the nurse to pull his car around to the front. She watched him walk through the hissing doors and disappear into the parking lot, rows and rows of glittering cars she wasn’t sure she’d ever see again. Now she could see it was nighttime, the opaque sky pressing down on them like a tight lid. 

“What time is it?” she asked the nurse standing beside her. After checking a small watch on her wrist, she answered.

“Quarter after 7.”

As Jack pulled up to the exit, the nurse wheeled her through the front doors. Kate braced herself and was washed with the gust of air bursting through the seams as the doors flew open. The night was cool but not cold. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the smells of civilization. 

Jack came around the side of his black SUV and helped her into the passenger seat, her aching ribs slowing her down as she climbed into the car. As the door was shut behind her, she was overwhelmed with a new smell - leather and Jack. She sat feebly with her purse in her lap. 

As Jack maneuvered the car toward the exit, Kate peered through the window trying to get a sense of her surrounding geography. As they were turning out of the parking lot onto the street, Kate saw the sign for the hospital she was leaving - UCLA Hospital. 

“Are you hungry?” Jack asked, glancing over to her briefly while they sat at a red light. 

She had to think about it for a second. Was she? Her other senses had been so dulled by the tumult of her mind, she hadn’t really thought about the rest of her body. 

“Um, yeah actually. I think so,” she looked over to Jack and gave him a weak smile, all she could muster. He had his left arm propped against the door, his left hand grazing his jaw in thought. His right hand sat atop the steering wheel. Such a casual, modern position to see him in. Versus hunched over a small fire in a cave on an island adrift somewhere in the ocean.

“I’ll order us some pizza from Giancarlo’s when we get home,” he said. The light turned green and he accelerated through the intersection. He thought for a moment and added: “It’s an italian place we like, by the house.”

Kate nodded in understanding. A place  _ they  _ liked. Near  _ their  _ house. The words tumbled around her head like loose change in a coin purse.

The world outside passed by the car in glossy reflections on the windshield, the overcast glow of red, yellow, and green sliding across the dark hood of Jack’s car and over their faces. Kate’s mind felt plugged up by a cork. Question after question bubbling up to the surface but held back by a barrier erected against the elements surrounding her. 

“Jack…” Kate said, barely above a whisper. His name escaping her lips before she realized she was speaking.

He glanced over to her briefly as they coasted down the street, the world outside silenced by the glass and steel of the vehicle.

“How did it happen?” she continued, gripping the purse she held in her lap. She traced the seam along the edge of the strap with her fingernails in concentration. 

“How did… we get home?” he asked. 

“Yeah. You said something about the hatch being… helping us… back at the hospital.”

“Right,” Jack nodded. He turned the car onto a street. Kate noticed their surroundings growing more residential. 

‘Well,” he started, shifting in his seat, stealing another glance at her. “Once we were able to get down into the hatch and explore it, we found that it was actually one of a series of research stations that had been built on the island in the 70s. Each station was connected with telecommunications equipment.”

Kate’s eyes widened. Jack turned them down another street which sloped up a gentle hill. 

“The equipment in our station - the hatch - was pretty robust. But we had trouble getting an outside signal. It seemed like that station was primarily used to communicate with others on the island. But once we found a map, we started scouting, hoping we could find and get into any of the other stations and see what equipment they had. And, if they had any, if it worked.”

Jack was driving slower now. The street she saw through her window was lined with homes, mostly modern single family properties of no insignificant size. They passed long sloping driveways extending to multi-car garages, tall stone pillars flanking the entrances, delicate and meticulous landscaping creating pristine borders to each residence. 

“All the boring details aside,” Jack said, briefly slowing the car at a stop sign, “one of the stations we found was a medical facility and had communications equipment that was engineered to connect to the mainland, for medical emergencies I assume. It looked like no one had been down there in years, but Sayid managed to catch a signal and after a day or two of SOS messages, we saw a boat on the horizon.” 

Jack was slowing the car and turning into a driveway. Kate glanced up and saw what came into view through the windshield. A two story coastal farmhouse, awash in white brick and oak panels, seemed to glow from within. A wide front door sat beside an expansive window into the front of the home.  _ Their  _ home. Suddenly Kate was hit with a wave of dread. This beautiful building in front of her contained the multitudes of a life she had no comprehension of. 

“Wow,” she breathed. Jack watched her eyes trace the outline of their home in front of them as they sat in the driveway. He shut the car off and turned to her.

“I know,” he nodded. “Sounds so simple when it’s boiled down like that,” he laughs or sighs, Kate can’t tell which.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she says, looking up at him. The idea of filtering back into real life was a foggy concept. But this life?

“I know,” he said again, looking down. Suddenly he reached across the console and covered her hands in his, quieting her worrying fingers. “We’re going to figure this out. It will get better.” 

His tone was gentle, but confident, trying to convince her, himself, or some combination of the two. 

“Let’s go inside,” he says softly.

Kate follows Jack, fortifying herself for what’s to come. Inside, she’s greeted by wide plank oak flooring and a high ceiling as Jack flips the lights on. To her left was a small formal living room with seating in front of the large window she saw when they pulled up connected to an open dining room with a table for eight. Jack closed the door behind them and moved through the space with the muscle memory of a frequent life. He walked deeper into the home and Kate followed him silently, eyes roaming the walls, floor, ceiling, for every detail she could pick up, hoping for the one glittering sign that she could recognize herself in. 

The home opened up to a full family room to the right, at the base of a staircase, with a large open concept kitchen and breakfast nook to the left. The back wall of the home was studded with windows, with the living room wall consisting of a large sliding glass door that opened to the backyard. In the dark, she could only vaguely see onto the back deck but could make out glittering lights shimmering at the bottom of a swimming pool. 

“I’ll order us the pizza,” Jack said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and walking over to the double refrigerator doors. He pulled it open, revealing its bright innards containing the tupperware and pitchers, bottles and packages, greenery and jars of a thoughtfully fed home. She wondered, did she purchase those items? 

“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to stop and get you some real clothes to wear home,” he said, pulling out a bottle of mineral water. “You can head upstairs to change into something more comfortable if you want.” It felt strange to give her something akin to permission to move freely through their house, but the way she held her arms across her chest betrayed her sense of unease and displacement. 

Kate glanced down at the navy standard issue scrubs from the hospital. They were stiff and dense against her skin but were the cleanest clothes she could remember wearing in a long time. She glanced over to the stairs and felt dwarfed by the size of the home, what was stored in its depths that she had no recollection of. But her curiosity and the itch to organize her thoughts somewhere alone convinced her to head upstairs. 

She padded slowly up the stairs, leaving Jack in the kitchen, feeling thankful that he didn’t feel the need to escort her. On the landing, there were two doors to her immediate right, and a set of double doors to her left down the hallway. She assumed they lead to the master bedroom and went in that direction. 

Downstairs, Jack leaned against the counter and took two long draws on the mineral water, cold in his hand, wishing it were something stronger. Gritting his teeth in frustration - with the situation they were in, and with himself. Sending her upstairs to find her way seemed heartless now, but he needed a moment to collect his thoughts. The night ahead of them stretched out in his mind like a highway through the desert. How was he going to navigate this for them, help her through the hazards that would face her? How could he watch her learn about their lives over the last three years for the first time? What version of her, of them, was going to come out on the other side of this? Or was he over thinking all of it - Would she wake up in the morning with the switch of her memory triggered, same as it ever was?

He flipped through the address book in his phone until he landed on Giancarlo’s and dialed the number. As he placed their usual order he could have laughed - usual order for the couple that lived here until this afternoon, but that isn’t who was in this house now. As he leaned against the counter opposite the fridge, his eyes traveled over the photos, invitations, and memorabilia that studded its surface, held aloft by small magnets collected over the years. A photo of him and Kate at their friends Alice and Cody’s barbecue over the summer was held up by a Grand Canyon magnet that also pinned up a Thank You card from one of Jack’s colleagues, thanking them for their baby shower gift. Next to that was a photo of Jack and Kate astride a pair of horses, just outside of Joshua Tree during their weekend away for his birthday when they had rented a house in the desert with a few of their friends. Kate’s cheesy grin underneath a cowboy hat made him smile while a voice on the phone confirmed their order would be delivered in the next thirty minutes.

Upstairs, Kate felt like a kid sneaking into her parents’ bedroom, the familiar territory still guarded by the unspoken rule of adult privacy and concerns outside your realm of understanding. In the dark, she felt for a lightswitch on the wall near the door, illuminating a floor lamp in the far corner of the room and revealing her surroundings. The ceilings were high, the king sized bed standing sentry against the wall opposite her, draped with cream and oatmeal linens, pillows piled against the tufted headboard. To her left, a wide set of glass doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the backyard. To the right was a door leading into what she assumed was the bathroom and another into a walk-in closet. 

She walked to the dresser on the wall opposite the bed and studied its surface - adorned with the equipment and stuff of their lives. A glass jewelry box displayed delicate necklaces and bracelets laid out for selection, studded with small jewels, delicate golden chain links stringing them together. A tray held an uneven number of discarded cufflinks, a tie pin, an out of place pack of gum, and a smattering of pocket change - three pennies, two quarters, and a nickel. She let her fingers roam over these artifacts, expecting a static spark to set off her memory, but none came.

At one end of the dresser stood two simple white picture frames containing images of a person she hardly recognized. The first was of her and Jack, seated at a dinner table, wearing warm weather attire - she a light blue sundress and he a white linen shirt. Their faces, arms, and her bare shoulders tinted with the tan and pink hue of vacation. They were leaning into each other and looking at the camera smiling in relaxation, contentment. His right arm draped around her shoulders, her left hand, holding a glass of champagne, bore a shimmering engagement ring. Kate glanced down at her hands now, seeing the same ring coupled with the partner wedding band. She tightened her hand into a fist and felt the ring pressing against the crease of her fingers.

The next photo, in black and white, both simpler and more stirring, froze a moment in time she could hardly imagine, yet it stood in front of her. Jack and Kate faced each other, eyes glittering and mouths wide in laughter, their faces and hands covered in the grey-white of monochrome wedding cake. Jack in a pressed and classic tuxedo, Kate wrapped in the lace bodice of a staples white gown, her hair pinned back in a low twisted bouquet of knots. Standing in this room, a bedroom that belonged to her yet she’d never set foot in, she felt the heat rise across her chest and the sting of fresh tears begin to reach into the corners of her eyes. Who were the people in that photograph? How had they traversed the lifetime beyond their desperate survival on that island to reach this point? How had she become the woman that could look at and touch Jack in these basic, yet terribly complicated ways? 

Suddenly, Jack cleared his throat from the doorframe, startling her from her own reverie. 

“Food will be here in about thirty minutes,” he said, tracking her attention to the photos on the dresser. He started to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt and walked past her into the bedroom, heading toward the closet. 

“Oh, great,” she said, forcing a neutral tone. She opened the top drawer in front of her and exposed a grid of neatly folded mens underwear, coupled with dark dress socks. Realizing she was looking into Jack’s underwear drawer, she shut it immediately, a hot flush of embarrassment soaring across her cheeks. 

“Middle drawer on your left,” Jack said from the closet. She looked over at him and his silhouetted frame was standing in the light of the walk-in closet, unbuttoning the last few buttons of his dress shirt. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, pulling open the correct drawer, revealing a variety of sleepwear from loose sweatpants and cotton shorts, to more delicate items - silk camisoles with matching briefs and a neatly folded array of negligees adorned with lace. Kate pulled a faded tshirt and pair of shorts from the drawer and closed it quickly.

“Do you need some help?” he asked, coming out of the closet more a version of him that she could remember - faded loose jeans, pulling a simple blue tshirt over his head, providing her a glimpse of his bare torso. 

“I think I’m ok, thanks though,” she said, unsure. Her ribs ached with each small movement, but she needed a few moments of privacy to catch her breath, needed to put some distance between them to keep her head above water.

He nodded and moved to leave the room. Pausing at the door frame, he said over his shoulder: “Take as much time as you need. I’ll just be downstairs.” 

Hearing Jack’s footsteps on the stairs, Kate sat gingerly on the end of their bed, carefully so as not to displace the pristinely laid bedding. In the dim light of the room, she took a deep breath and reached back into her memory, searching for any element of her surroundings she could recognize. Mornings waking up in this bed, sunlight spilling across the floor, digging through her dresser drawers, or crawling between the sheets after a long day. But wherever her mind wandered, she focused on moments of solitude. Anywhere she sensed Jack encroaching on her imagination, she switched directions, unable to think yet of ways they intersected here. 

She slowly pulled the scrubs off, nursing the tender areas of her bruised body. She stood in her underwear in front of the large round mirror that hung on the wall above their dresser, opposite the bed. Her bruised face veiled in shadows in the evening room, the blooms of bruising that spread like fingers over her left shoulder, across the edges of her ribs. Her skin was pale in the low light of the bedroom and a chill ran across her, suddenly feeling so exposed and out of place.

After gingerly changing into the faded Clippers tshirt, oversized and clearly not hers, and black shorts she pulled from the dresser, she crossed the room and stepped into the bathroom. Pressing a switch, the room came to life, washed in warm light. The bathroom was larger than any she’d ever dreamed of having. The marble floor was cool beneath her feet as she walked over to the vanity featuring double sinks. A large glass shower and detached deep soaking tub behind her in the mirror, a small water closet in the corner tastefully concealing the toilet. She looked at the bathroom counter and felt the now familiar veil embarrassment cloak her. Jack’s sink is clearly to the left - sparse but for a dish holding a razor, a canister of shaving cream, and a comb. To the right is obviously her side - a glass tray holds a variety of skincare products, a round hair brush sits next to the sink near a hairdryer abandoned on the counter in her morning routine. A small ceramic dish holds several hair ties and a pair of earrings. On the counter between their sinks sits a glass holding a tube of toothpaste and two toothbrushes, blue and green. She wondered which one was hers.

She splashed some cold water over her face and took a few deep breaths. Dabbing her face with a towel gently to avoid her bruises, she steeled herself to go downstairs and confront the reality of her life.

\-----

Jack was standing at the kitchen island, absentmindedly opening mail only barely glancing at its contents, when Kate came down the stairs. She was visibly uncomfortable but in his eyes was the same person he woke up next to that morning, the clippers shirt she stole from him ages ago hanging loosely on her frame. The bruises around her eye and cheekbone stood out more harshly now in the overhead lighting in the kitchen.

“Food should be here soon,” he offered. 

“Ok,” she smiled, crossing her arms over her chest to steady herself. 

“So…” he trailed off, not sure where to go. 

“Maybe I need a drink,” she suggested, thinking anything that will take some of the edge off for her right now will help with everything that’s coming next. 

“I was thinking the same thing myself,” he said, moving across the kitchen and retrieving two glasses. From a cabinet he pulled out a bottle of scotch. Kate watched him move through the kitchen, extracting ice from the freezer and preparing the drinks. He walked over to her, handing her one of the glasses. 

“Well,” she started, considering the amber liquid. “Cheers to being off that island, I guess.” 

“Yes, cheers to that,” he smiled kindly, and gently tapped his glass against hers.

She took a small sip and relished the smoky alcohol across her tongue. It traced a warm, fiery trail down her throat and warmed her belly. 

“Here, why don’t we sit down -” he motioned to the living room and she walked around the large l-shaped couch. Grey and modern, in front of a low square coffee table. The wall opposite the couch featured a stone fireplace, a TV hanging on the wall above it, built in bookcases on either side filled with books, records, and a handful of picture frames she can’t make out from the couch. She sat down and tucked her legs beneath her, cradling the glass of scotch in both hands. 

“Jack, I think I need to apologize,” she said, eyes on the glass in her hands.

“What for?” He said, confused. 

“The last time we talked… well, at least the last time I remember… we got into this… fight. And I said some things…” she took another sip from her glass before continuing. The memory so fresh in her mind, still frustrated by their fierce words, unsure of how to explain herself and something still so raw. “I tossed and turned all night. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I felt terrible about what I’d said to you. I must have played it over in my mind four hundred times last night, wishing I’d said what I actually meant to say. But it came out all wrong. I was unfair to you.” She finally looked up at him to see his furrowed brow, watching her in concentration. Mouth set in a soft line, nodding slightly. 

“I know it wasn’t really last night,” she smiled sadly, “at least not for you. But when I saw you at the hospital tonight, I immediately had this feeling that you must still be mad at me, from all the things I’d said. It still kind of feels like that for me, I can’t really shake it. But I guess you forgave me at some point.” She glanced around the room and he smiled sheepishly, nods again. 

“For whatever it’s worth,” she continued, “I’m sorry. I’m sure it sounds ridiculous to you now but I needed to say it. What I said then… I didn’t mean it..” She took another nervous sip of her drink. 

“Well I appreciate that, Kate,” he said and leans back into the couch. “But I feel like I should tell you that you’ve already apologized to me for that fight.”

“Oh, I have?” she smiled a little, at how ultimately silly all of this is. That Jack now holds all these secrets about her when she used to be a sealed chamber of her own memories and experiences. Now she was the one left in the dark, without the key to get back into herself.

“Yeah, well,” he chuckled a little at this, too. “It took you awhile to get around to it.”

“That sounds about right.” 

“In your defense, you couldn’t exactly apologize right away.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the morning after… the day we planned to explore the hatch, you got sick.”

“Sick? Sick how?”

“You came down with a nasty fever. I found you in your shelter that morning…” Jack trailed off, taking his turn to look down at the glass in his hand. He swirled the scotch around slowly, ice cubes waltzing together through his drink. She watched him, his brows knit together, struggling to come up with the words to explain it. “I thought you were still asleep at first. Which, back then, was crazy, since you were always an early riser like me.”

Kate nodded, thinking about her restless nights on the beach, waking up at first light and pacing the shore. Always hoping for and dreading the sight of anything on the horizon, their rescue and her damnation. So many of those mornings, she’d glance down the beach and see Jack emerging from his own shelter, getting his day started early while some peace and quiet still existed in their cut and paste community. They’d share a small wave usually, but keep their distance. Something about those early mornings both eerie and sad, the dark circles under their eyes speaking to the heavy weights they wrestled with at night.

“Back then?” she asked, noticing his choice of words.

“Oh yeah, well, now you sleep like a rock,” he laughed. “Some mornings it almost takes an airhorn to get you out of bed.”

“You’re joking,” she shook her head in disbelief and embarrassment. 

“Not at all. Let’s just say you left the morning person version of yourself on the island.”

“Wow, there’s more about myself I didn’t know than I thought,” she smiled sadly.

A quiet settled over them. Kate took another anxious sip of her drink, nearing the bottom of the glass. The alcohol was starting to set in and slow down her thoughts just a little bit, and Kate felt the relief like swimming in a cold pool on a hot day.

“So, do you mean to tell me I didn’t get to explore the hatch with you guys?” Kate asked, trying to bring the conversation back around.

“Not just you,” Jack said. “You were in a bad way. Whatever made you sick brought on a serious fever, and fast. When I found you that morning, I couldn’t wake you up. You were unconscious. I stayed behind with you while John and Sayid went to investigate the hatch.” 

“You didn’t go with them?”

“Of course not. I couldn’t. I had no idea how you’d gotten sick or what was causing your fever. Whatever it was, it wasn’t messing around. A fever that severe can be very dangerous if you can’t get it under control immediately, and by the time I found you that morning, you’d clearly been sick for hours, maybe all night.” Jack shook his head at the memory. Sitting at her bedside, resources critically limited and with no way to confidently diagnose her, had been hell. Sayid knew when they spoke that it was likely Kate’s only chance at survival was to get off that beach in the very near future. Without hesitation, Sayid had set off into the jungle with John Locke to dive sight unseen into the hatch with the remote hope that it might offer a tool or mechanism of contact with the outside world.

“All I could do was try to break your fever,” he said, still nervously swirling his drink, the ice singing out against the glass. “What I wouldn’t have given for ice.”

“Wow that’s… scary.” Kate was suddenly reminded of the harrowing hours after Boone’s injury, Jack’s frantic pace chasing his treatment, putting no limits on how far he would go to save his life. 

“Yeah, it was. I had some antibiotics but I couldn’t give them to you while you were unconscious without an IV. I couldn’t ask you what you’d eaten, where you’d gotten your water, or if you had any other symptoms. I must have questioned every person on that beach three times over, asking if they’d seen you anywhere or doing anything that could have exposed you to something. Of course no one had a clue. Plus, you’d been with me most of the previous day.”

“Well I must have woken up eventually, right?”

“Later that night, thankfully. Your fever came down a little bit and you woke up, as if you’d just taken a long nap,” he chuckled. “I think the thing that concerned you most is that you’d missed the exploration of the hatch.”

“Yeah I can see that really frustrating me,” she said with a small smile. 

“You were not happy about it, that’s for sure. But you were pretty weak, dehydrated, and still really sick. I gave you what antibiotics I had in hopes it could build up your defenses against whatever infection you were fighting, got you to eat as much as I could. But I knew that without access to real medical care, your situation would continue to deteriorate.” 

“How long did it take Sayid to find a connection? Send out the SOS call?”

“About three days. Your condition didn’t change much in that time - slipping in and out of consciousness - your fever just wouldn’t quit. I was worried that the antibiotics I was giving you weren’t helping at all, that we’d run our supply dry without really making an impact. And then I’d be out of options.”

Maybe some things had changed, but clearly not all of them. Kate could see the shadow of the stress he shouldered hanging across his face even now. All the decisions he’d been forced to make, largely alone, that guided the trajectory of their group’s survival both broadly and acutely. Even her own, which she was learning about now. These decisions, his judgement, stayed with him. His own questions about the possible alternate outcomes of their situation both as present and unknowable to him as her own questions were about her life off the island. 

The doorbell rang and she jumped. Jack got up to move to the front door and Kate took a deep breath, processing all he’d told her. Their last few days on the island were not at all what she’d expected. She knew that what mattered most was that everyone had been saved, but she still felt the sting at her own lack of participation in the effort, instead being reduced to a weakened and helpless patient. A burden.

Jack came back down the hall with their food, and suddenly the aroma of pizza acted on her like fresh smelling salts. After depending on the meager subsistence the island had to offer, the concept of sinking her teeth into a slice of pizza made her mouth water.

She got up from the couch and joined Jack in the kitchen as he pulled plates down from a cabinet. Kate situated herself on one of the stools at the counter and opened the pizza box. She pulled a slice from the box before Jack could set a plate down in front of her and took an eager bite, the melted, stringy cheese stretching from her mouth. It was divine. 

Jack watched her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. To see this experience as if it was occurring for the first time was dreamlike and alien. It was endearing to see her enjoying what had now been reinserted in their lives as a simple pleasure, but was simultaneously disheartening, the underlying cause of her missing memory still hidden and sinister.

They ate in silence at the kitchen counter for a few minutes, Kate singularly focused on the pizza in front of her. Jack noticed her glass was empty and pulled the bottle of scotch from the cabinet to pour their second round. She watched him as he returned the cap to the bottle, leaving it out on the counter and found herself wondering how many nights they’d had like this, the simplicity of a quick dinner, a drink, shared in their home? The question pulled with it others from the depths of her mind, and those pulled more still, urging her to examine and question every facet of their relationship. Everything from the largest, most pivotal moments down to the smallest and simplest. 

“What happened when the boat came?” Kate asked, pulling her second slice from the box.

Jack was wiping his fingers on a napkin, thinking back to that day. There had been confusion and excitement, albeit apprehension, amongst the survivors at the appearance of the boat on the horizon. It took hours for it to arrive near their shore, which was plenty of time for people to imagine both the best and the worst of their visitors. The messages Sayid had been able to receive at the medical station were static-filled, with no definitive information indicating who they had contacted and how they’d be able to help them. 

“Well,” Jack began, “we were brought aboard an Indonesian naval ship. When I was able to explain how sick you were, they took you to the infirmary on board to get you on an IV. But they eventually started checking off passengers against the flight manifest from Oceanic. Once they’d identified you, you were placed under supervision and an ‘arrest’ of sorts, even though you were hooked up to intravenous antibiotics.” 

Kate chewed her pizza slowly, unsure if she was ready to hear the next part of this story yet, but Jack continued.

“It took about a day for us to arrive in Indonesia. They took us to Bali, the closest island with an international airport. I only saw you for about fifteen minutes before we made landfall and we were all taken into custody by the Indonesian authorities to be processed, questioned, and transferred to Los Angeles. After that day, I didn’t see you again until three months later, right before your trial.”

Kate set her pizza crust down on the plate in front of her, her appetite abandoning her. Jack took a slow sip of his drink and considered her before continuing.

“Does any of that… sound familiar?”

Kate imagines the story Jack has just told her as points plotted out on a timeline, each marker a pivotal moment that any member of their group will no doubt remember for the rest of their lives. But at each point, she can only hear Jack’s voice and picture the experience, instead of coming up with her own recollection through her mind’s eye. She shakes her head. 

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks, treading lightly. Silently she nods.

“Ok,” he continues, taking a deep breath. “When we got to LA, there was a lot of media attention on all of us, which shone a spotlight on your case. Things were dredged up, news outlets did endless special interest stories about you and your life, about all of us really, and the court was pressured on the timeline of your case, which is how it got fast tracked and your trial start date was expedited. You became a symbol in the media that represented…I don’t know, the intersection of bad luck and trauma, I guess. It wasn’t an easy time. Your life was split open and examined by the world. You were out on bail, living in an apartment paid for by Oceanic downtown, and you sort of disappeared. We knew where you were, but you wouldn’t talk to any of us.”

Kate could hardly comprehend the components of her life being laid bare to people who had become close to her, those she’d even go so far as to label as friends in her life, let alone the world. The things she’d been through and done as a result of those experiences some of the darkest and most sacred parts of herself. 

“I was finally able to convince you to see me the week before your trial. It was really hard for you to have so much of your life exposed, that wasn’t lost on any of us. But you had a really good legal team that knew what they were doing, so there was a lot of positivity around your case. Going into it, we all talked about how we knew you, the person we came to rely on, and what that was going to mean to the jury. You weren’t so sure, though. You kept your distance, managing your own expectations.”

It wasn’t hard for her to imagine this version of herself - closing herself off from the outside world to self-isolate and prepare for the worst. Damage control. She was already familiar with the feeling of marching toward a deadline in the distance like driving a car out to a cliff. If you push everyone out of the car in time, you mitigate the damage. But she thought of Jack and his penchant for never taking no for an answer. Finally getting to her and pushing aside the barrier, if even briefly.

“The trial lasted about three weeks. There were a lot of witnesses called on both sides. Your lawyers called several of us as character witnesses - me, Claire, Shannon, Sun, Charlie - to talk about our time getting to know you, what role you played in our survival.” Kate briefly tried to imagine all of them sitting in a courtroom together, the fear and shame she must have felt seeing these people, relative strangers, stand up in front of the world and defend her.

“The jury deliberated for over a week. When they finally delivered a verdict, they found you not guilty of all but one charge - manslaughter. But due to the extraordinary circumstances of your case and everything you’d been through, you were sentenced to time served and a year of community service. You were placed in a program that had you working with foster kids in LA, especially teens, and it had a profound impact on you. Whenever I saw you after you’d spent your day downtown… it was like seeing the fully realized version of you. You were always at your best after you’d been working with those kids. And that’s how you decided to go back to school to get your degree in social work to make it a permanent part of your life.”

She looked up at Jack in surprise. The idea of returning to school for any reason having never really occurred to her. She’d always managed to get along, as best she could, however she could. But she felt a small swell of joy and pride at having found something that maybe brought her some fulfillment. The fact that she could spend her time working with kids at such a vulnerable stage in their lives, not dissimilar to the age she’d been when the trajectory of her life changed, made her feel a sense of gratitude. It occurred to her how strange it is to have such a terrible thing in your life be the impetus for discovering something good. Had her life not taken such a detour, would she have ever found it? And, most importantly, how could she have navigated any of this future for herself, by herself? 

And in considering this she realized - how much of a life can really be explored or discovered alone? Without the help of a guiding hand, someone else helping you hold your flashlight aloft as you looked through the depths of your obstacles? How many times had that been the case on the island, in the most literal sense? With all she’d been through, could she have nurtured such an idea on her own? Looking across the counter to the man in front of her, very simply and sweetly cleaning up the plates from their dinner, it came to her like the images in a foggy mirror after a shower, slowly appearing. Was there anyone she’d found in her life to challenge her more, push her further, or ask her more relentlessly to build herself up instead of tear herself down? Jack Shephard, a man she’d come to trust and begrudgingly open her life to on the island now cared for her in ways that were beyond her comprehension, in literally providing the roof over their heads and the food on their table, to the counsel and encouragement she’d need to take the leap into a new form of her own life from the wreckage of her past. Jack, of course, was her flashlight. 

Facing her again, standing at the kitchen island, he lifted his refreshed drink to his mouth, focusing his energy on the physical elements around him. The cool glass in his hand, the taste of the alcohol across his tongue, the firm floorboards beneath his bare feet. All as a distraction from the woman in front of him, that was clearly struggling with the world she found herself in, although so familiar to him. The home they’d both woken up to that very morning, his hand running the length of her thigh from her knee, to rest on her hip in the dawn glow of their bedroom as he woke up for a long day of intensive surgery at the hospital. Her body, warm under the sheets, shifted in response to his touch. Even in her half asleep state, she’d turned her head towards him just slightly so he could come up behind her and kiss the hollow beneath her ear. She had sighed, acknowledging his presence, and he had reluctantly pulled himself from their bed to get into the shower. 

Nothing this morning had been out of the ordinary. He flipped through their brief moments together like a rolodex, cursing himself for not somehow understanding that after this morning, typical and unremarkable like so many before them, everything would be different. The passing glances in the bedroom while he tied his tie and she woke up, the sliver of time they shared in the kitchen while she had her first cup of coffee and he packed his briefcase for the hospital, and their last kiss before separating, wishing her a good day, not far from where he stood now. He could feel the phantom of her lips on his, remembering a millennia of contact condensed to hundreds of days. Jack could feel his palms itching to touch her now, reach across the kitchen island and run his hand down her arm, move over to her and close the space between them, enveloping her lips in his. Somehow the foolish and heroic idea washed over him that the only remedy she needed, all she’d ever need, past, present, or future, was his touch.

“Jack,” Kate said, her voice breaking the thoughtful silence between them, “I don’t know what to say, what I could possibly say to thank you...”

“It’s okay - “ he tried, but she cut him off.

“No, I don’t think it is okay. I mean, look around us,” she gestured around them, to their home. The walls and belongings that surrounded them, that sheltered them. “This is a beautiful home. I don’t know where to begin in imagining what I did to deserve this…”

“Kate, it isn’t about that,” Jack took a step forward towards her, the corner of the countertop all that separated them. “We made this together. I know that right now it’s hard to understand, that you still feel like the isolated, scared version of yourself from the island. Look…” he trailed off, calculating his words, measuring the best way to help her understand. He reached across the island and covered her hand in his. For the first time, she noticed the matching platinum band on his finger that existed as the pair to hers. 

“What you remember from before, of our lives, and of us…” his thumb stroked her knuckles, a moment of intimacy between them she wasn’t familiar with but seemed so natural for him, almost as second nature as the way he nervously ran a hand across the back of his head through his short hair. His hand was large over hers and felt grounding, even as her mind began to tilt and whirl across the length of her life she couldn’t recall. “Kate, I need you to know that things are different now. I’ve seen how hard you can work at improving yourself and building the life that you want, I’ve watched you do it for the last three years. Everything that drew me to you when we met, all the things I love about you now…” Jack looked down at his hand covering hers, their partnership reduced to such a simple gesture. All the moments they’ve shared over the last three years - the triumphs and challenges, the ways she pushed against him and then granted him access into the most private and secluded areas of her, all lost now. He could feel the edges of his heart cracking and breaking away knowing the world they’d built together was now imbalanced by such a cruel twist of luck. If he had taken that extra moment with her this morning to talk to her before rushing out the door, would this have happened? Given into the urge to pull her closer in bed that morning, push his face into her curls and feel her body pressed against him for five more minutes, the scent of her coconut shampoo around him - he could even smell it now - would she have left the house later, gotten to class late, avoided the accident that brought them to this place?

“Jack, I’m so sorry,” Kate said before he could continue, her head hanging low as she looked into her lap. She dare not move her hand from his on the counter, her one binding to this new reality she wanted so desperately to understand. 

He squeezed her hand in return and took a deep breath. With all that they’d struggled through and overcome, he knew the only way through this was to keep moving forward, keep trying as long as it took, until they found the resolution that would be their salvation. 

“I have something to show you,” he said, slowly pulling his hand from hers and moving back into the living room. Kate turned to watch him sort through one of the shelves next to the TV. He pulled out a small case containing a disk and inserted it into a DVD player. The TV on the wall sprang to life, the room cast in a blue glow. 

“Come here,” he beckoned, tilting his head at her. “I think you’ll want to see this.” 

\-----

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you again to everyone who has read this story! I’ve really loved working on this and it’s great to see any interest in this at all :) This chapter continues to deviate from canon, but I’ve tried to weave in a few nuggets here and there that align with some events from the show. As always, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

Chapter Four

Kate moved toward the couch like someone under a trance, Jack her only fetter to this plane of physical existence. She positioned herself at the end of the couch as before, again balancing her glass in her hands, bracing for the onslaught of information she had no right not to remember. Jack moved to his seat at the opposite end of the couch and pressed play.

The TV came to life with imagery that she understood immediately - footage of a wide open, endless blue ocean. Kate sat frozen on the couch. A voiceover suddenly erupted from the screen:

“On September 22nd, 2004, Oceanic Flight 815 departed Sydney international airport in Australia, bound for Los Angeles. More than three hundred passengers began their fourteen hour journey to the United States, none of them knowing the tragedy that would befall them and enthrall the world.”

The screen cut to black suddenly, and after a moment, white text emerged, reading: “The Oceanic 815 Survivors.”

The view of the ocean continued briefly before the camera flew over the pristine white beach of an island existing somewhere across the globe. Kate squinted, trying to visualize their makeshift community spread across the sands shown on the screen, but it somehow seems inexplicably different. 

The screen flashed with images and segments cut together from news outlets around the world reporting their missing flight. Voices in a hundred different languages reported the story - after losing contact with air traffic control, Oceanic Flight 815 disappeared from the air.

“As the FAA investigation drew longer and delivered fewer results, the world turned to mourn those lost aboard Flight 815,” the voiceover continued, the screen showing clips of vigils and memorials, people gathered together to pray, to cry, and to protest. “Families were faced with the decision to put their loved ones to rest, or to hold out hope for a miracle.”

More footage of crying families fluttered across the screen, coupled with angry groups shouting at officials leaving federal buildings, men in black suits with stern haircuts and no eye contact. 

Suddenly the screen flared with breaking news, aerial images of a ship out at sea fills the screen. An MSNBC reporter appeared, the headline “Vanished Oceanic Flight 815 survivors found off coast of Indonesia”.

“After over fifty days stranded on an island and hoping for rescue, survivors of the Oceanic Flight 815 disaster have been located. We’re told they’ve been brought aboard an Indonesian naval vessel and are being transported to the Bali International airport where they can be processed for transport to Los Angeles.”

The aerial footage attempted to zoom in on the ship where small figures can be seen on the deck, but are still too far away to be identified as crew or otherwise. Kate's eyes stung, imagining their group aboard the ship, overcome with relief and joy at the prospect of returning home, seeing family and friends now finally a reality. And she thought of herself, under lock and key below deck, hooked up to an IV and refused visitors, as soon as the crew found her name on the manifest faxed to them by the airline, a big asterisk next to the name Austen, Kate. 

The camera cut to a new location, filmed from a makeshift press pool at the arrivals section of LAX. A huge crowd has formed and droves of policemen are trying to direct traffic and wayward travelers snaking through the mass of cameras, reporters, and family members. The people are all hoping to catch a glimpse of the survivors as they’re ushered from the airport and into the long line of black vans assembled to immediately whisk them away to a controlled location for thorough medical checks and interviews. The reporter's voice returned over the chaos of sound from the scene at the airport. 

“Survivors of Flight 815 have deplaned and are now being escorted through the airport, we’re told. They’re having trouble securing the crowd near the doors as you can see. We have cameras on the ground positioned at the inner circle of the motor pool -” her voice was overtaken by a surge of cheers and voices all crying over each other as the first survivors began trickling through the doors. The camera was elevated and captured brief glimpses of survivors as they were very quickly hustled along the sidewalk and into one of the vans, security guards sheltering them as best they could from the cameras and shouted questions. 

Kate’s eyes were trained intently on the screen, seeing faces she recognizes hurrying through the circus. She saw Shannon huddled with Sayid, their heads bowed and close together, Sayid’s arm around her shoulder protectively. Hurley staggered through the doors, his curly hair in a ponytail, his overwhelmed but overjoyed face peering through the crowd just for a moment, in the direction of the camera, and Kate could see him clearly. A warm tear fell from her eye and she took a deep breath. 

Right behind Hurley was Charlie, looking worse for wear. But all the same he turned to the group of cameras and thrusted both his fists in the air with a huge exclamation. The camera is too far away to capture his words but she could hear his voice carrying across the crowd and their cheers in return. Kate laughed, her heart filling with relief at the sight of her friends, witnessing their return home, even though she knew her experience with the authorities must have been an entirely different affair. 

Claire is wheeled through the sliding doors in a wheelchair, cradling Aaron in her arms wrapped in a blanket. Kate's stomach turned with a dagger of fear and she turned to Jack on the couch. 

“Claire, is she -”

“She’s totally fine. So is Aaron. The wheelchair was just a precaution, she was still pretty dehydrated.”

Kate nodded and sighed in relief. On the screen she saw Charlie hurry over to Claire’s side before they disappeared from view behind the row of vans. 

The reporter's voice cut in again over the feed. “We are being told the survivors of the raft have been airlifted to Cedars-Sinai immediately after arriving. It’s not yet known what the extent of their injuries are but a spokesperson for Oceanic has told us they are all alive.”

Kate gasped. The raft. They’d launched the day they opened the hatch. 

“Oh my god…” she breathed, looking back over to Jack. 

“They were picked up by a helicopter after the ship arrived. They were in pretty rough shape, but they were ok.”

“They were out on the water the whole time?”

“Yeah. About a week.”

Kate shook her head in disbelief. To think she’d tried so hard to get onto that raft, hoping to disappear again, somehow, after being discovered. 

“Are they ok? What happened to Walt and Michael? Jin? And… Sawyer… did he…” she trailed off, unsure what she was asking or looking for. 

“Everyone was ok. They spent some time in the hospital when we got back but overall were very lucky, outside of severe dehydration and some pretty nasty sunburns.” He smiled and she wondered what could possibly be the state of their friendships now, dropped back into the real world and their real lives? What became of them all? 

“But there was one passenger that wouldn’t be leaving with the group,” the voiceover returned to the TV. Kate looked back to the screen in time to see her own face reflected back to her, in the form of her mugshot, black and white, magnified on the wall of their home. The bottom of her stomach dropped.

“Kate Austen boarded Oceanic Flight 815 as a prisoner, being escorted back to the United States to face prosecutors for crimes committed across America as she ran to escape her past.” Footage of old news reports flickered across the screen and Kate winced at the memories. Grainy shots of police tape in front of scenes she wished she could forget, the irony of her current situation not lost on her. 

New footage appeared, showing Kate’s ducked head avoiding the flashes of photographers trying to catch her face as she was escorted into the Los Angeles Criminal Courthouse by a group of policemen and a team of lawyers. Her shoulders were slumped as she disappeared beyond the crowd into the building.

“But with their return, the world was finally given the opportunity to mourn the loss of those that did not return. Mothers and fathers, coworkers and neighbors, siblings and friends that would not complete their journeys home.” Photos of passengers slowly filled the screen, many she didn’t recognize at all, but a few she did. Her insides churned. The screen, filled with a grid of faces, slowly faded to black. When the screen illuminated again, it was filled with faces she was all but ready to see again. The Oceanic Flight 815 survivors were arranged in a group, seated on an outdoor patio with a sunny beach as their backdrop, the ocean stretching out behind them creating an infinite horizon. 

The camera panned to the reporter who had been providing the voiceover for the preamble, a middle aged woman wearing a smart pantsuit, her hair expertly hairsprayed into place to resist the ocean breeze. 

“A year later, we revisit the events of the Oceanic Flight 815 tragedy, by reflecting on those that can’t join us today. But we also celebrate the strength, resilience, and successes of the survivors that shocked the world.”

The camera pans back to the group and Kate can see her friends arranged carefully. She examined their faces, clean and healthy, resembling what looked like happiness even amidst the reason for their gathering. So many of them were there - Michael and Walt, Sun and Jin, Hurley, Charlie and Claire, Shannon and Sayid, Sawyer, Jack, and Kate.

The host, having taken her position at the head of the group, began her questioning: “The past year has brought about so many answers and so much change. You all - previously a group of strangers with nothing in common except the same flight to Los Angeles - were put through an experience the rest of the world only has nightmares about or sees in the movies. And yet, the people we see in front of us here have come back to their lives and grown in so many ways. What has the last year meant, as you look back at the event that changed everything?”

The group glances around at each other, smiles in thought, unsure of who will speak first. For a moment, she noticed herself on the screen looking over to Jack, sitting next to her, before Michael spoke up. 

“Well I think, for all of us, the miracle of surviving what we did makes you take stock. So many things in life you just don’t think about until you’re forced to.” 

“Like running water,” Claire said, laughing with the group. 

“Right, the simple things,” Michael was smiling, looking over to Walt. “But also the bigger things in life that take on new meaning. The things that are so big you can hardly put them into context. And then something terrible happens, and it all changes.” 

“And presents opportunity,” the reporter said, looking to Charlie and Claire. “Claire, becoming a mother on the island was no doubt a harrowing experience. And now you find yourself living in Los Angeles as a family. How has that departed from your plans?”

Claire smiled sweetly, her hands clasped together in her lap with anxiety. She blushed slightly before saying, “I was a total wreck, to be honest. With Aaron, I hadn’t ever planned… I didn’t think I could handle being a mother. And in a lot of ways I couldn’t. But with all the support I got on the island - so many people helped me when they didn’t have to - I slowly learned how to be Aaron’s mom. So when we got to LA, it was actually a possibility that I could raise him. I hadn’t realized I was capable of it. In a way, the island showed me I was.”

“Do you have any plans to return to Australia?” the reporter asked.

“I don’t know,” Claire said, turning to Charlie who reached over to take her hand. “Not for a while, I don’t think.”

“Speaking of returns,” the reporter continued. “Charlie, you’ve just released your solo album after a hiatus and split from your band, Drive Shaft. How does it feel to return to music?” 

“Oh man, it’s incredible,” Charlie said, his eyes lighting up. “While we were on the island, and even before that, really, it was all I could think about, getting back to writing and performing. Music has been a huge part of my life since I was little. But it led me to some really difficult times. When I think about all the people that didn’t make it here, didn’t make it back… for a long time I really thought it should have been me. I mean, when I got on that plane in Sydney, I was in a really bad place. And I really struggled with that - the idea that I would make it, some washed up junkie, instead of a father or newlywed or whatever. I think about that a lot, the idea that, since I was spared, there’s gotta be a reason for it. I can never let it get as bad as it was for me before I got on that flight. There are no third chances.”

At this, Charlie looked over to Claire and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. She blushed furiously at this but a wide smile spread across her face, the adoration palpable. Kate’s eyes swam with tears watching them on the TV, feeling sorely disconnected from people who, for a time, she thought would be the last she’d see on earth. 

“Charlie, I’m glad you brought that up,” the reporter said dramatically. “Since the events of your rescue unfolded, there’s been a great deal of scrutiny on the lives of those that survived. It’s no small feat to accomplish what you all did in fighting for survival on that island, but for many that suffered losses, the reception has been anything but welcoming as they grappled with the reality that their loved one wasn’t coming home. What have you experienced over the last year as you’ve moved back into your normal lives?” 

“It’s difficult for people to come to terms with the random events of our lives,” Sayid said solemnly. “I think we’ve all been the target of the anger and grief of the ones left behind by this tragedy in some shape or form.”

“Sayid, you experienced some profiling when you arrived in the States, is that right?” 

“Men who look like me tend to raise flags for some people,” Sayid said cooly. “Whether warranted or not.”

“There has been a lot of scrutiny on the airline, Oceanic, for not doing more to protect your identities. Would you agree?”

“Oceanic just wanted to spin the press in their favor,” Sawyer chimed in acidically. “It ain’t easy to recover from a disaster like this. Sure, they laced us all up pretty good, but in the public eye they caused the deaths of a hell of a lot of people, and that doesn’t disappear overnight.”

“I mean, it isn’t hard to figure out who people are these days,” Shannon said. “Most of your information is just a quick search on the internet away for complete strangers. I was getting so much fan mail my building had to start storing it in the janitor’s closet.”

“Well, sweetpea, your fanmail was probably a little different from ours,” Sawyer smirked. 

“My point is,” Shannon continued coldly, “that Oceanic did what they could to help us, but the press was ruthless in their search for our information. I saw news reports on TV that had details about my life I hadn’t even shared with some of my best friends.”

“You learn who your real friends are pretty quick,” Hurley said.

“But clearly, this group has formed some close bonds both on and off the island,” the reporter said knowingly. The camera cut wide to capture the full group, their couplings obvious in the seating arrangement. Kate saw herself on the screen cast her eyes down to her lap, but with a small smile on her lips. 

“Claire mentioned something earlier that I think was interesting - that she feels the island may have helped her. Do any of you feel the same way, seeing how your lives have unfolded over the last year?”

The group sat in thought for a moment until Jin spoke up. 

“To reiterate what Michael said earlier,” he said in English and Kate’s ears perked up, her eyes widening. “Being on the island helped me refocus on the things in life that were important to me.” He looked over at Sun and she beamed back at him. Kate remembered how lonely Sun had been on the island, so removed from herself and from a husband that she seemed so apart from. To see them like this, together with such admiration between them, soothed her heart. 

“It is amazing how life can distract you with so many things, dressed up to look important or necessary. It took me being stranded on an island for almost two months to realize that what was truly important was my family.”

At this, Sun leaned over to kiss Jin delicately. She looked full and loved and present in her partnership with Jin. 

“It must have been difficult, with all the media attention, to focus on what was important to you as you found your way back to normal life. Jack, when you returned to Los Angeles, did you feel any conflict about how to return to your life as a surgeon?”

“Well, frankly, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do when I got back,” Jack said. “I didn’t go back to the hospital for a few months. I did some volunteer work, I did some traveling - by car,” he said, smiling, and the group laughed again. Kate watched his face on the screen, observing the way the corners of his mouth turned upwards as he spoke, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the even and rested flush just under his skin. He looked happy, in the most biological and categorical way. 

“I think that, while we were on the island, we all reset to our default settings, as a survival mechanism,” he continued. “And it takes some time to shake that off. At least it did for me. So I didn’t want to rush back into what my life was before.”

“Especially for you, Jack,” the reporter said. “The sole doctor on the island, you had your hands full.”

“Well sure,” he replied, nodding. “But only in the most rudimentary way. It isn’t like I could perform surgery there. It was up to all of us to create our safety and care for eachother.”

“He’s being modest,” Sayid said, smiling slyly. 

“Seriously,” Hurley added. “I mean dude,” he looked down at Jack. “You saved Charlie’s life.”

“It’s true, I’d be a dead man were it not for Jack,” Charlie said, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Ok, well - “ Jack was laughing, put his hand up in protest. 

“What about my asthma?” Shannon asked.

“That was all Sun, I didn’t really -” Jack said, and was cut off again. 

“The day we crashed, he cared for every single one of us,” Claire went on. “Without a thought for his own injury.”

“Well, I eventually got some help with that,” he said quietly, glancing over to Kate and she saw herself smile shyly on the screen. 

“Jack was always running from one person to the next,” Charlie said. “I don’t think I ever saw the man sleep. He was like a machine.” 

“Look, like I was saying,” Jack cut in, “that’s just my default setting, what I know how to do. And believe me, they make it sound like it was a one man show, but it certainly was not. Hurley helped Claire on the beach after we crashed. She was experiencing early contractions and he saw her to safety, calmed her down so her contractions stopped. And Sun made a homeopathic remedy for Shannon to ease her breathing when she had an asthma attack. And Kate stitched up a cut in my side with a needle and thread we found. So like I said, it was up to all of us.”

In their living room, Kate looked over to Jack sitting at the other end of the couch, his head leaned back and watching the TV, frowning. The glass in his hand balanced in his lap, the wedding band on his finger catching the light. Kate realized that in all this discussion amongst the group, she hadn’t heard her voice once.

“And with this community that you formed together out of necessity, there’s a certain amount of anonymity that is enjoyed. But as we’ve discussed, that almost completely disappeared after your rescue. And for one of you, that scrutiny proved more difficult than others.”

The camera cut to Kate now and the sight of her face, two years in the past, caught her breath in her throat. She wore a flinty expression as she looked to the reporter.

“Kate, as we sit here today, you’re nine months into your sentence for the crimes you were prosecuted for... While you were on the island, very few knew of your history or your status aboard Flight 815 as a prisoner being transported to stand trial. How have your relationships changed with your fellow survivors as that information became public upon your return?”

“Well, I…” the Kate of the past said, and the Kate of the present leaned forward on the couch, nervously watching herself speak. “For a long time, I felt the same way Charlie did. It was confusing to be alive on that beach when so many others weren’t. In my life up until that point, I’d become so accustomed to hiding and lying, trying to stay anonymous, so I tried to do that on the island, too… I was so afraid of what would happen, what people would do if they knew the truth about me...” she trailed off, again looking down at her lap. She took a deep breath before continuing. “When we were rescued, I was pretty quickly removed from the group, so for a long time I wasn’t able to face the reality of how I’d lied to these people. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be given the chance.”

“Your trial was shortly after you arrived in Los Angeles. Many of the people sitting here today testified on your behalf. Do you think that had an impact on the jury?”

The Kate on TV quickly reached up to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye before responding. The Kate on the couch watched, captivated. It was a strange parallel feeling - the Kate of the past facing her future like a blank map, no idea that her future self would be sitting here watching this back years later with the same sense of blindness, but in reverse, the life behind her just as uncharted and unknowable. 

“Yes, I know it did,” Kate said, looking back up at the reporter, resolute now. “These people supported me, when I needed it most but deserved it least. I don’t… I can’t ever repay them. And to now count them as my friends… it’s like Charlie said. There are no third chances.”

The camera zoomed out to show the group, Kate reaching up again to wipe another tear from her eye. This time, Jack leaned over to her, his mouth nearly touching her ear to whisper something to her, something private that she desperately wished she could remember now as she watched the smile spread across her face on TV. After, she watched herself turn to Jack, their faces a breath apart, and she mouthed two words to him: thank you.

Seeing this muted exchange abruptly overwhelmed Kate with an awareness - that all the nuance and minutiae, heft and importance of their relationship was hidden from her. This small moment showed her something the photos upstairs could not. There was a mountain of context and experience within them that she couldn’t fathom, ranging in complexity from the simple patterns they functioned within - morning routines and favorite meals and appointments - to the deeper material that served as the bedrock of a shared life - the quiet insecurities and momentous milestones and fragile secret corners - that are only revealed to a partner so integrated into your life they can’t possibly be concealed. Strangely, after witnessing such a benign gesture between them, presented by a vehicle as absurd as a reunion special, the understanding crashed around her like high tide against the rocks beneath a lighthouse - immediately and entirely and without relent. 

“I don’t think I can watch any more of this,” Kate said hastily. She turned her face away from the TV, looking instead to her left and out the glass doors onto the deck, straining to see into the dark of the backyard. Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Jack stop the DVD and sit up on the couch. 

“I’m sorry, I thought it might help,” Jack said, dejected. He placed his glass on the coffee table in front of him. 

“I just…” she said quietly. “That person, she’s a year ahead of where I am right now. I feel left behind, like the world moved on without me and I’m here desperately trying to catch up.”

The tears were hot on her cheeks as they fell, one after another off the assembly line that had no emergency break. She hated that she was crying, hoping so despairingly to maintain a thoughtful approach to this, keep her wits about her, and methodically work her way forward. But the weight above her was becoming too much as she was slowly exposed to all that was missing, everything her life had been in the three years absent from her mind. The task ahead of her, discovering and learning her life, akin to building a skyscraper out of toothpicks: insurmountable, herculean, impossible. 

She stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, setting her glass down on the counter, unsure of where to go next. Her skin was growing hot, tears falling steadily now, one dripping off the end of her chin and onto her shirt. Kate was embarrassed, hiding her face from Jack as he came up behind her and placed a hand on her back. She flinched away immediately.

“Jack,” she whispered. “I’m not that person. She… I am still stuck back there, on that beach alone. Desperate to get out of there but so afraid…” She took a shuddering breath and reached up to wipe the tears from her face, feeling the tenderness of the bruise around her eye. 

“Kate,” Jack said, again reaching out to her and resting a hand on her shoulder. He turned her toward him and saw her eyes brimming with tears, her cheeks stained with the trail they left behind, the sight sending a hot knife of pain into his gut, feeling helpless and lost. 

“This…” Kate continued, barely above a whisper, “is beyond anything I ever let myself imagine. And not just this house, but all of it. The idea of being settled, somehow having a home somewhere, with someone,” Kate said, looking down at the floor. How did she put into words this feeling that she carried with her every day, the need to stay light on her feet and - how had Jack put it on the island - stay at the outskirts? This was the opposite of that, rooted into a life that had impact, and was built with intention to last. Kate never thought she’d be permitted this, or deserving of it. Yet somehow, in this phantom limb of a life that she could only vaguely physically sense in her body, she had forged a path forward and moved into the light. And somewhere along the way, she’d opened herself to this man and granted him passage through her, and he had done the same in return. It was that which she found the hardest to comprehend or acknowledge, that the barriers she’d worked for years to establish and fortify around her heart had been allowed to fall. “I have hurt so many people, Jack.”

Finally he reached up to grip her shoulders and pulled her to him. Finally, she allowed herself to weakly step forward and collapse into his chest. As he wrapped his arms around her, she felt the dam break that held back the ocean of her fear, her desperation, her sadness. She wept into him, threading her arms around his torso and pressing her fingers into his back, closing all space between them, needing his contact against her body to ground her to this plane of existence. Her tears bled into his shirt and she inhaled deeply, her breath stuttering against the tears, and the scent of him filled her lungs. 

Jack’s hands moved across her back, pinning her to him, clutching her small body against his. Her breath and tears passing through his shirt, warming and dampening his skin. He lowered his face until his cheek rested against the top of her head, the rich scent of her coconut shampoo dancing around him again. He felt her fingers spread across his back before she clenched her fists, gripping the fabric of his shirt in her hands, pulling him against her tighter as she sobbed. He whispered her name into her hair and raised one hand to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her curls, imagining that he could open a vessel within himself that she could release all of this pain into, that maybe if he held her a little tighter, a little longer, he would absorb it all. 

Kate felt the fabric of Jack’s shirt in her fists and focused her energy on slowing her breath. Her tears were falling slower now, she felt her cool wet lashes against her skin as she shut her eyes tightly to stem the flow. Slowly, she unfurled her fingers and let the fabric of Jack’s shirt slip from her hands. His hand moved down from her head, over her neck, and down her back, and Kate felt the vibration of his touch ripple across her body. She gradually allowed her arms to slacken against his sides and, with the tension released, took a small half step backwards, the gap forming between their bodies now like a ravine. 

Her head ached and her heart hammered in her chest as she tilted her face up to look at Jack, this proximity intoxicating and overwhelming. Really looking at him now she could see the stubble that gently spread across his chin and cheeks like an early morning fog, his eyes dark and rich, brown with small flares of amber and green fireworks at the center, and the sprinkling of silver that emerged in his sideburns, near his temples, and flecked across his jaw. With the distance between them so small, she was engulfed in his orbit and the person that he was back here in the real world was revealed to her: the man his patients and colleagues got to see, the man who lost a cufflink somewhere between surgery and home, the man who kept his promises, the man who asked her to be his wife.

“Sorry...” she whispered, “your shirt…” she lifted a hand to wipe her eyes, his shirt bearing dark imprints of her tears across his chest.

“Don’t be,” he said, his arms loosened around her now, his hands at the small of her back, linking them. He could feel their frequencies humming together in the space she’d created between them. 

“I think I’m just exhausted…” she said, slightly shifting on her feet. The energy between them was thrumming at a high pitch that was racing across her skin. Her head swam in confusion at the feeling of her body responding to his at an atomic level, outside of her control. Slowly, she took a step backwards and felt Jack’s hands slip from her back to hang at his sides. 

“Yeah, no, of course,” Jack nodded, brows tightly knotted, the feeling of her hands still tingling on his back. “Me too, actually. You should get some rest. Why don’t you head upstairs and I’ll finish cleaning up down here.” 

Before she could respond, Jack turned from her and went into the living room to turn off the TV and collect his abandoned drink on the coffee table. As she slowly ascended the stairs, Jack lifted the glass to his mouth and drained the remaining liquid, swallowing with a hiss.

Kate stood in their bathroom, concentrating on the sensation of the cold stone beneath her bare feet, remembering the disparate feeling of uneven sand under her every step, the gritty texture of the small grains against her skin everywhere incessantly, a constant intolerable reminder of where they were. She felt none of that irritation now - running a hand through her hair, it was clean and soft. The clothes she wore were dry, the fresh smell of fabric softener still clinging to the fibers. She examined her fingernails and saw they were even and free of dirt. But even with all these physical sensations of the real world proving her firm presence in it, her mind and understanding of self was years behind, struggling to find sleep underneath a thin airplane blanket, sheltered by nothing but a simple tarp, replaying the look on Jack’s face over and over again as she berated him. Maybe that’s what had made her sick - the long night of worry and regret over their argument had manifested itself physically and tried to take her down. 

“You ok?” Jack said coming into the bathroom and she jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s ok, I was just thinking.”

“What about?” Jack asked, going over to his sink and turning the faucet on. 

“Oh just how good it feels to be clean and not covered in sand,” she smiled at him and he laughed. He cupped water in his hands before splashing it over his face. “I was also trying to think of what could have made me so sick. Did we ever figure it out?”

Jack reached for a towel hanging near his sink and pressed it over his face. He shook his head. “They couldn’t say for sure but the general consensus was that you must have eaten something tainted with some kind of bacteria. It couldn’t have been the water since we were all drinking from the same sources and no one else got sick.”

Kate nodded in thought. “Or maybe it was just my conscience catching up to me.” 

Jack smiled and pulled the blue toothbrush from the glass next to the sink. “Or dehydration and exhaustion and stress and god knows what else was out there.” He started brushing his teeth and Kate reached over for the remaining toothbrush in the glass.

They stood at their sinks brushing their teeth in silence together. Kate glanced over at Jack in the mirror, the corners of his mouth edged in white foam. Kate savored the mint tickling her tongue and gums. Jack rinsed his mouth, dropped his toothbrush back in the glass with a small clink, and left the bathroom. 

After Kate had finished brushing her teeth, she dropped her toothbrush in the glass alongside Jack’s and felt a wave of anxiety wash over her. She hadn’t thought about the part that was coming next. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw Jack standing next to the bed, removing his watch, the only light coming from the lamp on his bedside table. The room was shadowy and quiet, and Kate felt her pulse quicken. She tried to picture herself walking over to her bedside, pulling back the blanket, and climbing between the sheets, but she couldn’t translate her thoughts into movement. Somehow, even after all the ways she’d shared private and emotional moments with Jack, the idea of spending a night tangled in the same sheets, her skin and breath inches from his, terrified her.

“Um, Jack…” Kate started, embarrassed, no idea how to explain how she felt. 

He looked up at her across the expanse of the bedroom and read her nervous posture.

“I think I need a little time to myself tonight, just to try to process everything…”

“Oh, right, of course…”

“If there’s another bedroom or somewhere I could crash tonight -”

“No, you can sleep here, I’ll go down the hall,” Jack said, taking a few steps toward the bedroom door but Kate interrupted.

“No Jack, I’ll go. You should stay here.”

“Kate it’s fine, you’ve been through a lot today -”

“Jack, please,” she took a few steps forward and softened her tone, but remained firm. “You aren’t going to win this one, ok? Just tell me where to go.”

Jack tilted his head and gave her a begrudging smile. “Can’t ever make it easy for me, can you?”

“Old habits die hard,” she smiled, trying to put his mind at ease.

Kate followed him down the hall and he led her through the first door on the left. She stepped inside, feeling the soft, plush rug beneath her feet and looked around her - the bed was inviting, draped in pristine white linens, an abundance of pillows were arranged against the natural wood headboard. In one corner of the room sat a white desk beneath a window; it was covered in books, a stack of papers, an abandoned coffee mug, and a laptop. 

“You’ve kind of adopted this room as your office,” he said, walking over to the desk and picking up the coffee mug. “I think half of our mugs end up in here.”

She smiled, her heart suddenly constricted by a thick sadness that overtook her, wishing so desperately that she could shake her memories loose like a snowglobe. She realized that, yet again, Jack was left to shoulder their burden on his own. That, by isolating herself, she was casting him out and relegating him to solitude. 

He paused at the door as he was leaving the room, her discarded coffee mug in his hand. He tried to smile at her, but she could see his eyes betray him. 

“Try to get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

He bowed his head and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

\-----

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks so much to all who have read and left kudos! It's always a wonderful feeling to see people enjoying something I'm having so much fun working on. I'm also just so happy to see any interest in this story so long after the show ended. As always, I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter Five

Kate sat on the edge of the bed, waiting and listening to the sounds of Jack moving through the house just beyond the closed bedroom door. When she heard him go back down the hall to the master bedroom, she strained her ears to catch the small click of the door shutting behind him. 

After registering the sound, she eased her weary, sore, and exhausted body into the bed slowly, savoring the feeling of the soft sheets against the bare skin of her legs. She pulled the blankets up around her, their weight and voluminous texture surrounding her like a cocoon, and turned out the light beside the bed, listening to the small sounds of the house settling in the night. Engulfed in the quiet dark around her, she looked up at the ceiling, her eyes slowly adjusting, only able to register the faintest moonlight filtering through the curtained windows.

In her mind’s eye, she replayed the events of the day as if they were projected onto the ceiling above her, each painful realization of a moment lost reverberating through her body like a plucked guitar string. 

She assessed the inventory of what she had learned of her time off the island and what had transpired in the last three years. Although the cliff notes of her life from Jack had placed some milestones she could hold onto, she was disoriented by all that was still missing and her mind fumbled blindly in search of details hidden in the spaces between what he’d told and shown her that night: the uncertain days of her illness on the island, while the survivors frantically searched for and worked in the research stations, seeking rescue. The months leading up to her trial, a time when she had isolated herself and refused to speak to anyone. The year after their rescue, when she worked to fulfill her community service, was reunited with her fellow survivors, and had begun to intertwine her life with Jack’s. 

It was those experiences and memories, caught in the gaps and crevices around the momentous events, that make up a life. As her eyes calibrated to the dark of the room, Kate scanned the barely illuminated ceiling above and walls around her and felt the corners of her eyes sting with fresh tears. They trailed over her temples and into her hair, her mind tumbling across the valley of time she hadn’t yet begun to explore, that she could hardly let herself wander into: the idea of trying to uncover her past with Jack like summoning the courage to step off a paved road and into a vast and dense cornfield, the verdant green stalks extending far above her head and out to the horizon line. Directionless, endless. She knew as soon as she stepped into the field, it would swallow her whole.

\-----

Her eyelids lifted slowly, heavily against the blurry dull light around her. Her limbs felt dense and she shivered, the breeze across her damp skin sending a chill to her bones.

Voices and sounds that she couldn’t decipher churned around her, all her energy focused on pushing her eyes open. She was vaguely aware that she was somewhere else, not where she felt she should be, or where she thought she had been.

“She’s waking up,” she heard a voice say faintly, sounding far away. Her throat was dry. Why was she so cold?

“Kate, can you hear me?” the voice was cutting through the murky air around her. She groaned, her sore, stiff back aching beneath her.

“Kate, can you open your eyes? Can you look at me?”

That voice, gentle but firm and commanding. She felt the soft touch of cloth on her damp forehead. She blinked again and her surroundings slowly came into focus. It was dark; the shadow of a person hunched over her blocking most of the warm light flickering somewhere to her left. She heard the whisper, hiss, and crash of the evening tide. She struggled to speak, her voice barely a whisper.

“Where am I?” she asked, looking up at the silhouetted form above her while her eyes adjusted to the dark. 

“Kate, try not to talk. I need you to drink some of this water.”

A bottle was brought to her lips and she sipped the tepid water cautiously, her throat calmed and slaked. The breeze coursed over her again and she shivered more fiercely this time, feeling her limbs tremble. 

“I’m so cold,” she whispered, shifting uncomfortably, hands groping for a blanket but finding none.

There were more voices around her now, muffled and wrestling against the sound of the waves in the distance. The light seemed to change direction, casting huge and bending shadows across her face as she tried to focus her eyes, but she was so tired, and her eyelids began to slip closed again.

“Kate, keep your eyes open, look at me,” the voice came back and a hand pressed against the side of her face. She groaned again, pulling her eyes open and finally they fell on a face she could see, that she could recognize.

“Jack?” she whispered, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s going on…”

“I need you to stay awake, ok? Keep your eyes on me. I’m going to give you some medicine that you need to take,” he said and she heard the rattle of a pill bottle. Jack gently brought two pills to her mouth and she swallowed them down with another mouthful of water. 

“Jack,” she said, more sternly this time, to get his attention. He looked back at her and brought the cloth to her forehead again. “What’s wrong with me? I’m freezing.”

“You have a fever, we’re trying to bring your temperature down -”

“Where are we? The house… we were just there...” 

Kate was interrupted by another face coming into view above her - Charlie’s messy blonde hair hovered over her, his face breaking out into a grin at seeing her awake.

“Kate! How are you feeling? Bloody good to see you awake.”

“Did you go into the hatch?” she asked Jack.

“Locke and Sayid did, they’ve been there most of the day. But don’t worry about that right now, you need to rest and regain your strength -”

“Did they get the signal?” she asked, her eyes growing heavy again, Jack’s face swimming in the whirlpool of light above her.

“Signal? Kate, what do you… Kate, open your eyes, I need you to stay awake,” Jack said, his voice echoing out to her as she slowly slipped away again, the light above her growing dimmer before it went dark completely.

\-----

Kate’s eyes leapt open and she jolted up in bed, immediately met with a bolt of pain across her ribs. Her heart was pounding and she could feel the cold sweat on the skin of her chest and neck. The room was bright with morning light, the white linens encircling her as they had the night before. She took a slow breath and tried to shake off the remnants of the dream, which clung to the corners of her mind like stubborn cobwebs. The feeling of the sand beneath her, the sound of the night tide, and the unrelenting ocean breeze against her chilled skin were so embedded in her memory she could call it all back as if she were still there. She took a deep breath, trying to sort through the dreamt images in her mind like organizing a deck of cards floating across the surface of a pond - the more she touched them, the more water they absorbed and began to sink beneath the surface and away from the grasp of her recollection. Had her psyche constructed the dream on the foundation of what she’d learned into a fantasy or was it really a memory pulled from the deep well of her mind?

She looked around the room for a clock but couldn’t find one, wondering how long she’d slept. What she remembered of the night before were the cascading tears soaking the pillow case and her sore shoulder and ribs throbbing as she tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed. Somehow, she felt more tired now than when she’d crawled into the bed, unsure if she’d slept for hours or only minutes.

Gingerly, she pushed the blankets aside and slipped out of the bed. Before opening the door, she listened for sounds of Jack in the house around her. After a few moments of hearing nothing she opened the door. 

Kate looked down the hall and saw the door to the master bedroom was open, light filling the portion of the room she could see from where she stood. She walked toward the door and looked into the room to see the bed made, the watch Jack had removed the night before no longer sitting on his bedside table. She went to the bathroom to find it empty as well, and she took the opportunity to brush her teeth and take a shower.

Once the water was hot, she stepped into the steamy shower and let the glass door shut behind her. Moving into the stream, she felt the cold sweat of her dream begin to wash away. The water soaked her hair and drowned out her anxious thoughts, the thrumming pressure like a dull symphony in her head. She focused on the sensation of the heat spreading through her body, running down her back, reaching into her fingers and toes, to loosen her muscles and ease her tired eyes, swollen from a night of sleepless tears. 

Afterward, her skin soft and pink, she went into the bedroom wrapped in a towel in search of clean clothes. Entering the walk-in closet, she flipped the light on and was greeted by a sprawling array of clothing on either side - Jack’s to the left and hers to the right. 

She surveyed the row of blouses and dresses hanging neatly, organized by color, the fabrics soft and foreign under her fingers; the experience not unlike browsing racks of clothing at a shop she knew was out of her price range. At the far end of the closet hung a collection of floor length dresses, most wrapped in protective plastic covers from the dry cleaner. One garment bag in particular hung at the end, white and larger than the rest. Kate reached up and delicately unzipped the bag to slowly reveal the ivory gown. She reached out and took the silky fabric of the skirt between her fingers. The lace bodice was even more beautiful in person and up close; the delicate threads wound into an intricate design, studded with small, barely-there pearls. The dress was exquisite and classic. Silently, Kate tucked the gown back into the garment bag and zipped it back up. 

Kate found and pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain tshirt, slowly guarding her sore ribs as she bent and twisted to get dressed. She ran her fingers through her still wet hair and took a steadying breath before leaving the bedroom.

At the top of the stairs, just as she was about to take her first step down she heard Jack’s voice from somewhere below her, talking on the phone. His voice was low and muffled; she paused before descending, ears struggling to catch any words.

“Before yesterday, no,” she heard him say, then paused. 

“No other symptoms.” Pause.

“Nothing, as far as I can tell.” Pause. 

“Ten? Let me check my calendar,” he said, and she just barely glimpsed his shoes as he walked past the base of the stairs towards the kitchen.

“Ten works… Great, thank you Dr. Lewis. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

\-----

Jack woke early. Either that, or he decided sometime after sunrise to give up his fight for sleep after the long, slow night. Whatever sleep he managed to get was skittish and light, punctuated by the recurring realization that his wife was down the hall behind the closed door of their guest bedroom, alone. 

He took the hottest shower he could stand, let the water pummel his body and scrubbed his skin until it was red and tingling. His head was aching, his shoulders, neck, and back stiff from harboring the endless tension of yesterday, made worse by the distance he felt expanding between him and Kate. He again felt the waver of his heart as he had the night before, recalling how he had reached out in his half-asleep state to her side of the bed, only to be greeted by a cold pocket of sheets where her body should have been. Although his procedural mind understood her need to be alone, he felt hobbled by the solitude, as if a core panel of his circuitry had been removed.

He brewed a strong pot of coffee and shut himself in his office downstairs to pore over medical journals, research papers, studies, and any other published materials he could find examining cases of amnesia, especially those in patients suffering from any form of PTSD. He emailed the heads of Psychiatry and Neurology at St. Sebastian seeking any research, referrals, or information they could share about their experience with symptoms similar to Kate’s. 

While pouring his second cup of coffee, Jack reviewed his calendar: the next two days were packed: pre- and post-operative appointments, consultations, and various department meetings. It was only Wednesday and he anxiously considered how he and Kate would get through to the weekend.

He began making phone calls to address some of their immediate problems. First, he arranged to have a rental car delivered while her car was in the shop to assess the damage from the accident. Then, he called the car insurance company to begin filing a claim. Next, he called Kate’s school to begin arrangements for a leave of absence, while trying to remain as vague about the details as he could. Finally, he called Dr. Lewis to make an appointment for Kate to see her as soon as possible. 

Hanging up the phone after scheduling the appointment with Dr. Lewis, Jack checked his watch. It was already 9:45 and he was running behind, his first appointment at 10:30 that morning. Had it been a typical morning, he would have left for the hospital hours ago, getting ahead of a busy day. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, the muscles tight and tense. He hadn’t yet decided if he should leave Kate a note to explain his absence or try to wake her up. Before he could make a decision, she padded down the stairs and came into the kitchen, showered and dressed. If her eye hadn’t been several shades of purple, he could have briefly convinced himself that life was back to normal.

“Good morning,” he smiled warmly. 

“Morning,” Kate said, trying not to sound awkward and heading to the coffee pot. She glanced up at the cabinets and hesitated. Taking a guess, she pulled open the cabinet above the coffee pot and was relieved to see a row of mugs. She took one down and poured herself a cup. 

She settled into one of the barstools at the counter and gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile as she took a sip of her coffee - her first in what she remembered as a very long time. The taste was bitter and toasted and fragrant. 

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Okay, I think,” she said, shrugging her unbruised shoulder slightly, opting to keep at least this conversation uncomplicated. She could have told him that between surges of pain in her side and shoulder with every movement and being completely overcome with tears for most of the night, she eventually fell asleep only to be confronted with a bewildering and frightening dream that vividly presented itself to her as either a memory or falsified invention of her mind - or some combination of the two. But she decided to keep those details to herself. Jack nodded, accepting her answer.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, eyeing her cautiously, before adding: “How’s the pain today?”

Kate took another sip of her coffee and said, “Better. I’m still sore, but I think taking a shower helped.”

“That’s good,” he said, nodding again. His mind bubbled with questions he wanted to ask her, itching to interview her like a patient the day after an elaborate operation, but he held back. If any of her memory had sparked back to life miraculously overnight, she clearly wasn’t ready to share it with him. He suppressed the feeling of unease and mild hurt at the cool air between them.

“Listen,” he began, “I have to head into the hospital. I have a few appointments that I can’t postpone...”

“Oh, that’s ok -” she tried, but he cut her off.

“I should be able to reschedule most of my afternoon meetings, but I need to see a few patients today,” he said, his brow furrowed. She could see the worry drifting over his face, and knew that he felt torn between his two worlds of responsibility. Kate felt self-conscious.

“Don’t worry about it, Jack. I’ll be ok here,” she said, trying not to sound too impervious to his concern. “Besides,” she continued, “Being here on my own might actually be good. See if I can, I don’t know, knock something loose.” 

She smiled at him reassuringly, trying not to think too much about the sense of relief she felt at the idea of spending the day alone. She tucked her damp hair behind her ears and saw the brief flutter of confusion skip across his face.

“What?” She asked, on edge.

“It’s nothing,” he said dismissively, looking back down at his laptop screen and raising the coffee mug to his lips for another sip. 

“Really, what is it?” Her heart skittered like a shaken bag of marbles, fearful what he could be seeing when he looked at her now, what element of her was misaligned?

“It’s just...” he paused and set his coffee mug down on the counter. “You took your ring off.”

Kate's eyes shot to her left hand and saw her bare finger, the faintest stripe of her skin lighter from the continued protection of her ring. She flexed her hand and felt a flush begin to creep up her neck.

“Oh, no I just -” 

“It’s ok,” he replied quickly and turned to the sink behind him to pour out the last remnants of his coffee before loading it into the dishwasher beside him. 

“I took it off to shower and -” she tried again.

“Really, it’s ok, I understand,” he said, affectless. He turned back to his computer and pressed it shut quickly before scooping it off the counter. He was making his way around the counter with the laptop in hand, but Kate stopped him with a hand on his arm before he could pass her.

“Jack, honestly. I just forgot to put it back on after my shower. That’s all,” she said, her hand resting on the crisp cotton of his pressed dress shirt. She was looking up into his eyes, trying to communicate this mistake, that she understood her blunder. 

“I know,” he said, lips pressing together in a bittersweet smile, trying to convince them both that he didn’t feel his facade cracking like a windshield pecked by a small stone, the fissures of damage crackling out across the surface, encouraged by each ensuing blow. 

She squeezed his arm in acknowledgement and saw the disappointment in his eyes. He hesitated for one more moment, looking at her in search of something, some indication that a recollection had surfaced in her mind. But it didn’t come, and all he saw were the apprehensive and guarded eyes of someone he hadn’t seen in a long time, that he used to know. 

“Look,” he started, rubbing a hand across the back of his head and through his short hair. “I need to get over to the hospital.” She nodded and dropped her hand from his arm. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me, ok?”

“I’ll be fine, Jack. Really.”

She gave him a hopeful smile and he opened his mouth to say something but hesitated, changing his mind. Instead, he returned the smile before leaving the kitchen. Kate listened to the smart clap of his shoes through the house as he gathered his things. When he left, the front door announced his departure with a heavy thud.

\-----

A stillness settled over the house like a draught. Kate sat in the kitchen, empty coffee mug sitting on the counter in front of her, wondering what to do next. The bright morning sunshine flooded the kitchen and living room. Through the windows she could see the trees around the house swaying in a gentle breeze. She wondered what she’d be doing today could she live her life as she’d planned to yesterday? 

Kate felt as if the walls around her were expanding - pushing out into the distance and isolating her in a giant unknown warehouse: the refrigerator a city block away, the living room in another zipcode. Suddenly the idea of being trapped in the quiet was more daunting to Kate than she expected, but she knew that her past was embedded in her environment - she was surrounded by clues to her past that she desperately needed to uncover. 

Slowly and with delicacy, she wandered the house like a tourist. She paced through the kitchen, opening drawers to inspect their contents. Can and bottle openers, gleaming cutlery, aluminum foil and folded dish towels. She pulled open cabinets to find tumblers and wine glasses and champagne flutes, stacks of dinner plates, salad plates, and dessert plates, all in matching finishes. Next to the refrigerator was the pantry and she inspected it too, slowly feeling a buoyed boldness as her investigation continued: cans and boxes and bags and jars were arranged neatly on the pull-out shelves of the pantry and she imagined herself coming back from the grocery store, unpacking and organizing these items - cans of tomatoes and bags of rice and bottles of olive oil - a simple domestic pleasure she never thought she’d feel again. In the uncertainty that saturated her mind, it was a small comfort to know something as basic and reliable as bringing a bag of groceries to a home like this was a normal part of her life now.

She was about to open the refrigerator but paused to examine the array of photos and cards attached to the front. A thank you card from an unfamiliar name, a save the date for a couple pictured on the front that she didn’t recognize, silly magnet souvenirs from places she’d never visited, and scattered photos of herself that she couldn’t place. She consciously interrupted her own thoughts and pulled open the refrigerator door, literally pushing the images away from her. 

Kate marveled at the luxury of the full refrigerator in front of her, the cold air washing over her skin. Although she wasn’t hungry, her mind wandered over all the cravings she’d had on the island that she could now satisfy with barely a second thought - pancakes and grilled cheese sandwiches, lasagna and ice cream, bagels with cream cheese and apple pie. 

She moved through the house like a detective - running her hands over the surfaces and fabrics around her - intently absorbing every sensation in her surroundings. While looking around the living room, she flipped through the record collection filling a few shelves near the fireplace, walked her fingers along neatly arranged book spines, and came across the framed photographs she couldn’t examine the night before. One frame contained a group photo, clearly taken the same day the tv special had been filmed, freezing a moment of time where she and eleven of her fellow survivors enjoyed each other's company - arms hung around shoulders, faces caught in wide grins and laughter. Her friends - if she could call them that - looked healthy and healed, their traumatic experience a chapter in their collective past, on the road to becoming the people they were now; closer, grounded, and safe.

The frame next to this was filled with the lush green of their front lawn, a wide “For Sale” sign in the grass with a large “Sold” sticker emblazoned across it. Next to the sign stood Jack with Kate on his back, her arms around his neck, both of them beaming into the camera. Kate looked into the eyes of the people immortalized in the picture, pushing her mind backwards to this segment of her timeline, looking for anything perceptible she could grasp - the scent of the fresh grass, Jack’s arms around her legs, the warm sun on her smiling face - but found nothing. 

Kate expanded her search throughout the house, but never fully escaped the feeling of being a trespasser, an intruder into someone else’s life. She sifted through her school work - pages of reports, syllabuses, and printed course materials all adorned with notes and highlighted passages that were now incomprehensible. She revisited the closet and ran her hands along Jack’s row of pristine dress shirts. She went back into the bathroom and stood in the still damp shower to smell her shampoo and Jack’s soap. She pulled open the drawers of their bedside tables and looked under the bed. All the while, she felt as if she’d broken into a home and spent the day digging through the belongings of people she knew, but couldn’t quite understand. But unlike an intruder, she wasn’t only exposed to the basic household items around her - a toaster, battered running shoes, a dish of house keys - but the deepest most private particles that exist within the seams of a home: bank statements and bills collected in a pile on the kitchen counter, rows of neatly folded underwear and intimates in the dresser, an accordion of condoms in a bedside table drawer; all items intended for invisibility against prying and strange eyes such as her own.

Perhaps the strangest she felt was when she emptied her purse onto the kitchen counter, painstakingly searching through every pocket, hunting for even the smallest thing that would begin to pry open her memory. She pulled every credit card, dollar bill, receipt, and coin from her wallet and arranged it on the counter in front of her amongst the collection of items she extracted from the purse: lip balms and lipsticks, pens, a small bottle of aspirin, three hair elastics, a nail file, valet tickets and movie ticket stubs, a matchbook from a restaurant called The Little Door, four bobby pins, a half empty tube of hand cream, and a pair of sunglasses. 

She held and turned over each item, waiting for a spark of recognition, each piece of evidence related to a life lived up until moments before she arrived, as if she was an alien visiting a distant planet. 

She picked up her driver’s license and scrutinized the photo that appeared there alongside a name that she’d barely come to understand as her own: Katherine Anne Shephard.

\-----

Kate delicately pushed open the door to Jack’s office, looking around the space. Two windows looking out towards the neighbor’s house filled the room with sunshine, illuminating several bookshelves containing numerous volumes, new and old, organized meticulously, a worn leather sofa against the opposite wall, and a desk furnished with folders, stacks of paperwork, and medical journals at the center of the room. 

She walked around the desk and lowered herself into Jack’s chair, leaning back, imagining him there. The man she pictured, that provided for them and worked so hard, was largely unknown to her. His habits, likes and dislikes, and routines all things she would have to relearn. She ran her fingers along the edge of the desk and looked out across the papers and post-it notes with names, terms, and times scribbled across them, a foreign language in her eyes. At the corner of the desk she saw a small picture frame she hadn’t noticed at first. The photo it contained was faded, the colors muted and dull with age. She reached over and picked it up to get a closer look and discovered who could only be his father standing with a young Jack - no older than four or five - on his shoulders. The wide smiles on their faces, although decades apart, were nearly identical even then. The older man’s eyes bore the same crinkle at their edges that she saw in Jack now when he really smiled. 

Kate was about to leave the room when she noticed a closet door in the corner she hadn’t seen when she came in and she got up from the desk. Pulling it open revealed the underwhelming sight of a handful of suit jackets and a few empty hangers on an otherwise bare rod. Above and below were stacks of bankers boxes, names and identifiers scrawled across the front. Many were marked “J. Shephard - UCLA”, their corners dented and worn, having followed Jack around for years. Another box bore the note: “CPA - ‘05-’6”. On the top shelf was a lamp missing a lampshade, a worn leather briefcase, and a shoebox. Kate was about to shut the closet door when she realized the lamp and shoebox were stacked in front of several more bankers boxes, pushed to the back of the closet shelf. She reached up and moved the shoebox aside to read the note on the front of the concealed boxes: “Austen - Case No. 1642-15”.

\-----

Jack marched through his day almost in a trance. From meeting to meeting, patient to patient: he updated charts, took calls, and consulted with colleagues. His assistant Lucy brought him lunch at 1pm which he immediately forgot about until he returned to his office from a meeting hours later and saw it still sitting on his desk, untouched. 

He had managed to keep the news of Kate’s accident quiet and, although gossip in hospitals spread rapidly, it still seemed generally unknown, which allowed him to move through his schedule inconspicuously - every time he lost his train of thought or felt his attention drift, he could easily blame it on a hectic day and not betray the truth: that while he was doing his best to keep his mind and hands busy, Kate was at their home, alone and rudderless. 

After his last meeting of the day, he stood at the desk in his office and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lucy was just outside his door typing up the post-operative care notes for one of his patients, the soft symphony of her keyboard the only sound he could hear on the quickly quieting administrative floor where his office was located. 

He read through his messages and paused on one from Andrew Davis, his family friend and the doctor that had seen Kate after the accident the day before. He made a mental note to call him back tomorrow, after Kate’s appointment with Dr. Lewis, with the vague hope that maybe he’d have some good news to report, or at least more fortitude to deliver bad news than he possessed at that moment. His head was pounding after a long, demanding day with too much caffeine and hardly anything to eat. He had worked so hard to keep himself busy that day that he’d hardly allowed himself any time to think of what was waiting for him at home, or to think much about the guilt he felt simmering in the pit of his stomach for staying at the hospital far longer than he had planned, or had really needed, to. He had ended his day with several internal and administrative meetings that could have easily been rescheduled. But instead he found himself soldiering on, swinging on a pendulum between his feeling of responsibility to his patients and avoiding what he knew would be inevitably waiting for him at home.

Jack shrugged off his white coat and went to the closet to hang it up, his mind stumbling over how to approach tonight and what, if anything, he could do to help Kate. He massaged his stiff shoulders and neck before putting his suit jacket on. 

As he packed up his briefcase, he looked out the window at the view of Los Angeles, the distant downtown skyline studded with large buildings washed in the early evening sunlight of late summer. There was still time before sunset and Jack looked out across the city, wondering if there was any pocket of the metropolis Kate might remember.

\-----

Kate’s eyes fluttered open and took in her surroundings - she was enclosed in a small windowless space with gray walls and a low ceiling. Metal shelves and cabinets, painted the same grisly color as the walls, contained rows of supplies - boxes and bottles and vials with labels in print too small to read from where she laid. The air was warm and smelled slightly stale, the light above her harsh and fluorescent. She looked down and saw she was laying in a narrow bed, a thin blanket covering her. Her bare arms rested at her sides - on her left, she was hooked up to an IV and on the right she was handcuffed to the metal frame of the bed.

The sound of muffled voices called her attention to the closed door to her left. The door transformed the voices into unintelligible murmurs and she strained her ears to decipher any part of the conversation she could, but it was garbled and caught up in the intermittent whir of the air vents circulating recycled air. What she could understand was the increasing volume of these voices, and the tone growing more and more agitated before it abruptly stopped. There was a brief pause before Kate could hear the unmistakable herald of keys turning in a lock. 

The heavy metal door swung open into the room and in stepped Jack accompanied by a visibly displeased officer of some sort, wearing a uniform bearing marks Kate couldn’t identify. 

“Make it quick,” the officer said to Jack sternly, not looking at her. Jack glanced at Kate and immediately frowned, turning back to the officer. 

“Are the handcuffs really necessary? You’ve already locked here in here,” Jack said, his voice like the edge of a blade. The officer didn’t respond and turned away from Jack, stepping out of the room and leaving them alone behind the heavy latch of the metal door. She looked up at Jack and tried to understand this version of him - he looked drained, several days of stubble spread across his jaw, and she could see the pallid color of his skin in the harsh overhead light. He wore what looked like clean sweatpants and a crisp, plain tshirt. She couldn’t place this moment in her mind but it somehow made sense, even without any context. He moved a chair to her bedside and gave her a small smile. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked. 

“Strange,” she replied and he chuckled, nodding. 

“Yeah, that makes sense, all things considered,” he brought his hand to her forehead and she could just barely catch the aroma of soap on his skin. “Your fever is gone, that’s good.”

She tried to shift in the bed but her wrist caught in the handcuff, the metal clattering against the bed frame. Kate could feel the sharp edges biting into her skin.

“Where are we?” she asked, looking back at him. The mirthful look on his face from a moment ago had been replaced with one of concern and resignation. 

“We’re on our way to Bali. We should be docking in a few hours.” 

“Have I been in here the whole time?”

Jack signed and nodded, visibly frustrated. “They brought you down here as soon as we boarded so they could get you on this IV. This is the first time they’ve allowed me to see you, see how you’re doing.” 

He glanced at the translucent bag hanging over her. He reached up and examined the label and the amount of remaining fluid. 

“They need to change this soon -” Jack started but Kate interrupted him.

“Jack,” she said, reaching out to his hand and closing hers over it. His attention snapped back to her. She could feel how weak she was even in that small gesture, her arm heavy and slow.

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

He smiled down at her and she felt him run his thumb over her knuckles. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, pushing her concern aside. 

“I can see how exhausted you are,” she said softly, her brows furrowed together. In the harsh light of this room, it was painfully clear how spent he was, even under the disguise of the clean clothes he wore.

“Kate, we’ve been over this -”

“I don’t just mean now,” Kate said, cutting him off. Her eyes dipped closed briefly as a wave of fatigue swept over her. She pulled them back open to continue, “Even after this. I see how tired you are.”

Jack frowned and leaned in a little closer, her hand gripping his fingers tighter. 

“Kate, I’m not sure what you mean, but I’m fine…”

“I know, but even last night…” she started to say, but was slowing down, her eyelids drooping again. 

“Kate,” he said firmly, bringing his other hand up to hers, cradling it between his palms, “I need you to listen to me for a minute. When we dock, we’re going to be separated. It seems like all of us will be transferred to Los Angeles but they won’t give us any details beyond that. You’ll be taken into custody as soon as we get to the states. They won’t tell me where you’ll be sent after that.”

“Jack, I’m sorry -“

“Just listen to me. I’m probably not going to see you for a while once we get off this ship,” he said, pausing and looking down at her hand in his with a frown. He took a deep breath and sighed, his shoulders slumping even more as the air left his lungs. 

“I couldn’t have gotten through this without you, Kate,” he said, his voice low. She tried to concentrate on this moment, the feeling of his hands, to understand if it was real. “You know how I think… that I’m not really a spiritual person. I don’t believe that there’s any reason or explanation behind the things that happen to us. But meeting you…” Jack paused again, his eyes still trained on their hands, intertwined on the bed. Kate felt her pulse quicken, unable to suppress the feeling of unease that was creeping over her skin. The alien room surrounding them and the quiet timbre of Jack’s voice planted a seed of finality in her gut - that some kind of ending was rapidly approaching and they were helpless to fight it. 

“All I’m trying to say is that you helped me get here, helped all of us. You can’t forget that, or let anyone out there convince you otherwise. As soon as I can, I’ll find where they’ve taken you and will do everything in my power to help you get through whatever is coming next.”

Finally he looked up at her, his solemn, tired eyes shadowed with apprehension. The deadline that loomed compressed them like a vice; the urgency in Jack’s voice betraying his need to say these things to her before he lost the chance. 

“Jack,” Kate said, hardly above a whisper, as the door was thrown open and the officer returned. 

“Time’s up,” the officer announced, standing at the edge of the bed. Kate felt tears spring to her eyes, her heart rate accelerating again, and she looked frantically back at Jack knowing that this was it. 

“Wait, please,” she said, pleading, as Jack slowly pulled his hands away from hers and stood from his seat at her bedside. 

“Please, don’t…” she said, the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She felt one trickle down the side of her face and into her hair. 

“Her IV needs to be replaced,” Jack said sternly to the officer. 

“It’s time for you to leave now,” the officer replied, his tone flat and dismissive. 

“Jack,” Kate called out, her voice straining over the pounding of her heart in her throat. 

“Where is she being transferred to when we dock? She needs continued healthcare and an attorney,” Jack said, raising his voice to the officer. Kate saw another officer step into the room and move to Jack’s side. 

“Dr. Shephard, please step out of the room or we will remove you ourselves.”

“Wait, please,” Kate cried again, begging, her voice cracking and the tears soaking her cheeks. 

“I want to speak to the doctor on this ship right now. She’s still dehydrated and malnourished. She is not getting the medical care she needs.” Jack was yelling now, his voice reverberated off the walls around them. The officer next to him grabbed his arm roughly and Jack wrenched it away, his eyes flaring. The officer moved behind him and grabbed both his arms, twisting them behind his back, restraining him. 

“Please, stop!” Kate cried out, her voice coarse and thick with desperation. “Jack!”

As the officer began pulling him from the room, he looked back at her. 

“I’ll find you, Kate,” he said, resolute, as he was pulled out of the room and pushed down the hall out of her sight. 

Kate's eyes swam with tears, her breath shallow and racing. She dizzily watched the first officer move to a cabinet on the wall and extract a small vial and a syringe. He carefully filled the syringe and came to her bedside. He reached up to the translucent IV bag and injected the fluid. 

“Wait, what is that?” She asked, panic constricting her lungs. “Please, will you tell me what’s going on?”

He pulled the syringe from the bag and turned away from her silently, ignoring her. She felt her mind sway, adrift on the incoming tide of what was infiltrating her bloodstream. 

The officer stepped out of her room and shut the door behind him, the sound of the turning lock echoing through the room like rocks tossed into a canyon. Her vision tilted and she blinked, tears spilling over her lashes. She tried to keep her eyes open but darkness closed in around her. 

\-----

The house was dark as he pulled into the driveway - only the automatic lights in the front were illuminated, timed to come on every evening. With the sun beginning to set slowly, the windows stood like dim eyes looking out at the street.

Jack shut the garage door behind him and walked into the house, long shadows slanting across the floor as the sunlight faded. The house was still and quiet. He listened for any sounds of Kate, looking around him for signs of her but saw none of the typical evidence of her day - dirty dishes in the sink, schoolwork on the counter, a blanket abandoned on the couch, a sweater draped over the back of a chair: all missing. Jack set his briefcase and keys down on the kitchen counter.

“Kate?” he called into the house and waited. 

Hearing nothing, he went to the back doors and pushed them open, the large glass panels opening like an accordion. He stepped onto their back deck. On a normal night of the past, he’d sometimes find her reading or talking on the phone on one of the deck chairs when he got home, reclined and enjoying the last bit of sunlight before dinner, but not tonight. The chairs looked untouched, the side table holding no abandoned mug of tea or water glass to indicate she’d ever been there.

He pushed the doors shut behind him and went upstairs. The door to their bedroom stood open, exposing a rectangular view of the room beyond - the made bed in the shadows undisturbed. He saw the guest room door was left slightly ajar and he approached it.

“Kate?” he said softly, lightly tapping on the door with a knuckle. Through the sliver of space between the door and its frame, he could peek into the room and see the edge of the bed’s headboard but nothing else.

He heard no response and ignored his feeling of rising anxiety. Using his suspended hand, he nudged the door open wider and felt an immediate sense of relief.

Kate was curled up on the bed asleep, facing away from the door, still dressed in the same pair of jeans and tshirt she put on after her shower that morning. Her dark hair was fanned out on the pillow behind her and all he could see of her face from where he stood was the crescent of bruise that curved across her brow and down her cheekbone. 

Jack pushed the door open a few inches wider and saw the bed littered with papers, open folders scattering their contents around her like debris from an explosion, her body the epicenter. He didn’t need to see the labels on the open boxes at the foot of the bed to know what she’d found.

He hesitated, vacillating between the two options in front of him - he could step into the room and sit on the edge of the bed, wake her gently to ask about her day, run his hand over the curve of her hip, and talk about dinner - or he could shut the door without disturbing her, go back downstairs quietly, and wait for her to wake up on her own and come to him eventually. The decision between these two paths he knew had to pivot around who was lying in the bed in front of him. He felt his heart tighten as he pulled the door closed and turned from the door to leave her in peace.

\-----

Kate jerked awake, her breath caught in her throat as she flexed the muscles in her arms and legs to get her bearings. Blinking against the sleep in her eyes, the room came into focus. The light from the window was warm and fading. She rubbed her eyes, mind teetering back and forth between the sensations of the bed beneath her and where she’d just been in her mind, the feeling of the stiff mattress still pressing into her back, the stale scent of the air at the edges of her lungs. Instinctively, she rubbed her right wrist, the cold and tight feeling of the metal handcuff a ghost on her skin.

She heard the sound of footsteps downstairs and sat up in bed, realizing she’d slept through Jack’s return home. The paper around her rustled and slid towards her as she stood from the bed. Looking around the room, she suddenly felt the need to hide the files she’d unearthed, not wanting Jack to know she’d been searching through his office. She quickly gathered up all the documents, dropped them back into their boxes, and stacked them in the guest room closet before taking a deep breath and heading downstairs. 

She found Jack sitting on the couch with the TV on but volume turned down low, the Dodger Stadium baseball diamond filling the screen. As she stepped off the last stair, Jack turned to her away from his laptop sitting open on his thighs. 

“Hi,” she said, smiling, feeling a strange sense of embarrassment tickle her spine. 

“Hey,” he replied, shutting his laptop without a second look at the screen. She walked around the couch and sat down next to him, watching the Dodgers pitcher toss a strike down the plate. 

“So you’re a Dodgers fan?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the TV.

“Only geographically,” he replied. “I’m actually a Red Sox fan.”

He glanced over and saw her nodding, her attention focused on the TV. Her eyes still glassy with sleep, her hair having dried into her natural, wild curls that fell over her shoulders and against the back of the couch. She folded her legs beneath her. In her fatigued state, she looked almost comfortable; at home.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get home sooner,” he said. From the TV in front of them the faint crack of a baseball bat could be heard, the crowd roaring. The golden sun hung over the stadium. “How was your day here?”

“Good, I think,” she said. “A little strange.”

“That makes sense, all things considered,” he said, with a small chuckle. Kate felt a shiver of deja-vu flicker in the back of her mind.

“I fell asleep at some point,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. “I have no idea how long I slept.”

“I’m sure you needed it,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said, uncertainly. 

The crowd on the TV erupted in a wave of cheers again as a batter sprinted around the bases. Jack watched the faces in the stands and tried not to picture them there, with their friends, as they’d been only a few months ago. A conventionally unremarkable and standard Sunday afternoon in Los Angeles, sitting in the sun behind the third base line, drinking beer and eating peanuts. After the Dodgers beat the Padres 3-2, their friends Cody and Alice dropped them off at home, and they’d made love on the couch. Now, sitting less than two feet apart, Jack looked at his bruised and confused wife, knowing that he couldn't touch her the way he wanted to in this moment and he felt fresh pain split through his chest like a fracture. 

The TV cut to a wide shot of the stadium leading to a commercial break, showing the glowing horizon line, studded with palm trees and the cluster of buildings downtown, and he had an idea.

“How about we go get some dinner?”

\-----

TBC


End file.
